


Too Much, Never Enough

by Jolli_Bean



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Cole Lives, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has a Penis, Connor is an android, Falling In Love, Hank doesn't know it, Light Angst, M/M, One Night Stands, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Secret Identity, The accident still happens, Top Hank Anderson, canon adjacent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:55:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27610046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jolli_Bean/pseuds/Jolli_Bean
Summary: Connor nods at Hank’s drink anyway, almost empty, and says, “Can I get you another?”“Oh,” Hank says. “You don’t have to...”Connor blinks at him - he’s sort of intense, actually, Hank thinks, especially for someone with such good puppy dog eyes. “Were you going to get yourself another one?”“I mean...yeah, probably.”“Then let me,” Connor says, and Hank must be gaping at him in complete confusion, because Connor shrugs and leans in closer to him. “I think you’re hot,” he says, like they’re sharing a secret, “in case that wasn’t obvious.”~~In 2036, while Hank is in Chicago on business, he meets Connor for the first time, and he can't stop thinking about him after. There's a magnetism between them that keeps pulling them back together, and it's easy to fall in love with him.But Connor has secrets, and Hank has a few of his own, too.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 17
Kudos: 112





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back at it again with the Hank Doesn't Know Connor Is An Android content. Yes I know how frequently I write some version of this premise, no I'm not going to stop.
> 
> The title of course comes from Florence and the Machine's ["Too Much is Never Enough"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bD6sTDH9Zdc), which is from the FFXV soundtrack but is also a hell of a powerful mood here.
> 
> This is an ongoing thread on Twitter (I'll link the next tweet at the end of the chapter for anyone who doesn't want to wait for the next update) and it's a long one, so buckle up, buttercups. 😘

Hank always sort of saw the divorce coming.

Or at least, he did for the last year, since he took the job with Riverbed Artificial Intelligence - the traveling wasn’t the _cause_ of the split, but it did exacerbate some problems that already existed between him and Jen - communication issues, never really feeling quite suited for each other, and so on. They tried to hold it together for Cole, but things that are meant to break will always break.

And since what really sucks about the split is not being able to see Cole all the time, the way he’s used to, instead of not being able to see Jen, it probably means a divorce is the right move, if Hank is being honest. It’s not that he _wanted_ to get divorced from Jen, or that he’s _happy_ about it, but it feels like the right thing, and so they’re just trying to figure it out.

Hank has been single for about three months when he’s traveling for work - he does security consulting for Riverbed’s warehouses, spread across the United States - in the fall of 2036. He spends his fifty-first birthday in Chicago, alone, doing a walkthrough of Riverbed’s area facilities, and honestly, that sounds sad, but Hank doesn’t really mind. Back when he was a cop, his partner would always do something, hang some dorky sign over Hank’s desk and make him sit there while everybody sang to him, but...well. It wasn’t like Brad invented the workplace birthday celebration, but after his death undercover years ago, it just feels hard, like a painful reminder. 

Easier to avoid the hard shit entirely, Hank thinks.

He takes himself out to a bar instead of going straight back to his hotel for the night, because he figures he can do that for himself, at least. And because he’s trying to put an ounce of effort into having a nice evening, he even walks past the sports bar on the corner that would usually catch his attention and heads for the nicer cocktail bar a few blocks up.

Hank sits alone when he gets there, which is fine - he’s always been comfortable enough in his skin to be alone, not particularly awkward or embarrassed about being seen out by himself, which was maybe also some of the issue with him and Jen, now that he thinks of it - that he wanted her but didn’t really need her, and Jen wanted to be needed.

Hank orders a whiskey and sits there looking at his work tablet, scrolling through warehouse blueprints. He barely lifts his head to glance at anyone around the bar as he looks through them, and so he’s surprised when someone starts talking to him.

“You here for work?” a voice down the bar asks, and it takes Hank a few moments to realize it’s directed at him, and a moment longer to think, “Oh,” once he looks up, because the kid’s hot in a sort of buttoned-up, dorky way, looking at Hank with a small, curious smile on his face.

“Oh,” Hank says out loud, too, while he waits for his mind to catch up. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Detroit Gears sticker on your tablet,” the kid says. “Kind of a niche team to be a fan of, unless you live there, and then everybody’s a fan.”

“Oh,” Hank says again, like an idiot, turning his tablet around to look at the sticker Cole put there earlier this year. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

He figures maybe that will be the end of the conversation, especially since he doesn’t know why it started at all, but instead the kid smiles and gets up, moving closer to him so he doesn’t have to raise his voice across the bar. “I’m Connor,” he says, extending a hand across the empty seat he left between them.

Hank somehow manages not to gape at that hand for too long before he takes it. “Hank.”

Connor leans back in his seat and smiles. “What do you do, Hank?”

“I work with Riverbed. Security analyst.” He lifts an eyebrow. “How do you know the Gears?”

“I’m from Detroit, too. Small world.”

Yeah, Hank supposes it is. And he’s not really sure why the kid is talking to him, but...well, sue him, but the attention is kind of flattering.

“No shit,” he says, and Connor smiles.

“No shit. I work with Warrior Games up there - programmer.”

That’s less of a coincidence - Hank forgets the stat at the moment, but most people are with steady, lucrative employment these days work in the tech industry, and there are so many of them to choose from. Hank has heard of Warrior, though - they’re a VR game developer, well outside of the sort of artificial intelligence work Riverbed does.

“Cool,” Hank says, which is probably another fucking stupid thing to say - there was a point in his life when he was better at this, smoother about flirting with a hot guy at a bar, but...it’s been a while.

Connor nods at Hank’s drink anyway, almost empty, and says, “Can I get you another?”

“Oh,” Hank says. “You don’t have to...”

Connor blinks at him - he’s sort of intense, actually, Hank thinks, especially for someone with such good puppy dog eyes. “Were you going to get yourself another one?”

“I mean...yeah, probably.”

“Then let me,” Connor says, and Hank must be gaping at him in complete confusion, because Connor shrugs and leans in closer to him. “I think you’re hot,” he says, like they’re sharing a secret, “in case that wasn’t obvious.”

“Oh,” Hank says, _yet again,_ because he really is an idiot, isn’t he, and Connor looks pleased by his flustered expression.

“Too forward?” he asks. “We could talk about each other’s work for the next hour and then I could mention it again, if you prefer.”

Jesus, he’s a lot to handle.

“Nah,” Hank says. “That’s okay. I’m just...” He stops himself from talking about the divorce - it’s not a good thing to talk about with the hot, inexplicably interested thirty-something sitting beside him, probably. “You’re hot, too,” he says instead, because whatever, if the universe wants to give him a birthday gift, he’ll take it.

Connor’s smile broadens. “I was worried you were going to say, ‘I’m just straight’.”

Hank laughs at that, and Connor orders him another drink, and Hank thinks they live in a weird fucking world, but at least it’s being kind to him for once.

The bartender puts their drinks in front of them, and Connor shifts in his seat so he’s facing Hank. “How long are you in town for?”

“Uh,” Hank says, and if he knocks back enough whiskey that it’s almost too much, it’s only because he needs the courage. “Until Tuesday...listen, I’m not trying to guilt you, or whatever, but it’s my birthday, if that’s any incentive for you to give this up if it’s, like, a bet, or a joke, or something.”

Connor smiles at that - he keeps doing that, that pleased little smile, like the cat that got the fucking canary. “Give what up, Hank?”

“Hitting on me, or whatever you’re doing.”

“Whatever I’m doing,” Connor repeats, amused. “I thought it was obvious I was hitting on you.”

“Yeah, I mean, _I guess_ , but I don’t get hit on much, so how would I know?”

Connor shrugs. “Most people have shit taste.” He looks Hank over and adds, “I have impeccable taste, I like to think.” He pops the cherry garnish from his drink into his mouth and then says, “Is it really your birthday?”

“Yeah.”

Connor smiles. “How old are you?”

“Older than you.”

“Obviously,” Connor says wryly. Hank wonders if that’s a _thing_ for him, if he has daddy issues or whatever, but there are also worse things to be than a one night stand for somebody to try to work through their shit or scratch an itch, Hank thinks.

“I’m fifty-one,” Hank says. He doesn’t think he looks any younger than that, so it’s not like he’s selling himself short.

“Married?” Connor asks.

“Divorced.”

“I’m sorry.”

Hank shrugs. “It was a long time coming. It’s okay.”

Connor finishes the last of his drink and sets the empty glass down. “Where did your company put you up this week?”

“Oh, I forget the name. It’s some basic motel downtown. Why?”

“I’m trying to figure which one of us has the nicer room,” Connor says, tracing his finger along the rim of his glass in a way that shouldn’t do things to Hank’s heart rate but definitely does. He has nice fingers, which is maybe a weird thing to notice, but...oh well.

“I’d guess yours,” Hank says, and that’s probably true, but he also says it because the contents of his suitcase are strewn messily across his hotel room, because he didn’t really think he was going to be bringing someone back there.

“You want to get out of here, then?” Connor asks. “Unless you want another drink. Or to talk more. We can do that, too.”

Hank would like another drink, but he probably shouldn’t, and he tells Connor as much. “My car’s manual,” he says by way of explanation.

“Old school,” Connor says, getting up and reaching for his coat. “I took a taxi here, if you want to drive?”

“You know you should be careful getting in strange men’s cars.”

Connor shrugs. “I can take care of myself.”

Hank believes him, he thinks.

It’s a short drive back to Connor’s hotel. They pass a 24-hour drugstore on the way there that jogs Hank’s thoughts, so he clears his throat and says, “Do you have condoms?”

“Yes,” Connor says, and Hank wonders if he does this often, picking people up for a one night stand while he’s traveling on business. He figures he must...either that, or he’s just extra prepared. “I think that’s kind of presumptuous, though,” Connor adds.

“Oh, sorry...”

“I’m kidding,” Connor says quickly. “Obviously you’re going to fuck me.”

Hank wonders what exactly he’s gotten himself into, but he’s had just enough to drink that he doesn’t quite care. He used to do shit like this, too, before he was married, back when he was closer to Connor’s age, so he can figure out how to do it again...

“Okay,” Hank says lamely, and then he adds, “Sorry. I used to have more game than this.”

They pull into the hotel parking garage, and once they’re parked, Connor kisses Hank and says, “I think you’ve still got it.”

Hank keeps telling himself he isn’t lonely - he’s never really felt like he _needs_ somebody, and he thinks he’s pretty good at being alone. He was good at it before his family dissolved, and he’ll be good after it...but he’s surprised by how good it feels to kiss someone, to have someone beside him. Even if Connor is a whole mystery, he doesn’t seem like an ill-intentioned one.

So it’s easy, in the end, to kiss him back. Maybe it’s easier than talking, because it’s harder to pretend that way, and maybe Hank wants to pretend more than he previously accounted for. He thinks maybe Connor does, too, and even if he doesn’t know why, he thinks that makes them cut from the same cloth.

Connor hums against him when Hank darts his tongue against the seam of his lips, opening his mouth and letting Hank taste him as he fists a hand in Hank’s hair in a firm hold.

“Come on,” Connor says softly when they part. “Unless you want to fuck me in your back seat?”

“Your bed is probably better,” Hank says, although that _is_ an appealing thought.

Connor smiles and says, “Probably,” as he opens the door to climb out, and as they walk inside, he surprises Hank by slipping himself under Hank’s arm, like he belongs there.

Hank wonders if maybe he's having a mid-life crisis - divorced, not particularly attached to his job beyond the fact that it pays the bills, which is less of a selling point now that Jen and Cole have moved out. He thinks he's _probably_ too old for this, picking some kid up in a bar and going home with him just because he thinks he's hot. But he also thinks he's had a rough go of it, and that there's nothing wrong with having some fun, and that if he _is_ having a crisis, there will certainly be plenty of time to do some self-reflection tomorrow.

They take the elevator up to one of the top floors, and when they get inside Connor's room, Hank realizes both that it _is_ a nicer room than his - there's a great view of the city skyline, a small balcony and a sitting area outside the open window, and a much bigger bathroom than the tiny square Hank has been squeezing into - and also that Connor is just as messy as he is, a few suit separates thrown over his couch and his grooming products strewn over his bathroom counter, which is kind of endearing, honestly.

Hank knows he isn't going to see the kid again, but maybe that actually makes it easier to admit that he sort of likes him...at least as much as you can like someone you don't really know at all.

And for all his bravado at the bar and in the car, Connor is surprisingly sweet as they stand in the entryway of the room, turning to Hank and unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt so he can slip a hand inside to lay over Hank's chest as he kisses him softly.

It feels like pretending, which is what makes Hank think he's right that Connor is just a little sad in his own way, too, that he has his own shit he's running from. Maybe he'll ask him about it later, but he also doesn't think that's what Connor wants from him - he knows next to nothing about him, but he has the distinct sense that, despite their very different approaches, Connor isn't any more interested in being seen than Hank is.

Hank doesn't know where that leaves them, but honestly, even if it just means doing each other a kindness tonight, then maybe that's good enough.

And it's easy to pretend with Connor - he's open and welcoming even if it's plain there's plenty he's keeping closed off, too, and he's there waiting when Hank puts his hands on his face and kisses him, whining contentedly against him. Hank doesn't quite know how he manages it, but Connor somehow catches a hand in his hair and shrugs out of his jacket at the same time, letting it fall to the floor.

He's a good kisser, or maybe Hank's perspective is just a little clouded because it's been a while...no, Hank's pretty sure he's a good kisser. And he thinks he could stand here kissing him for the rest of the night and feel happy about it, except that Connor gets impatient after a few moments - a characteristic trait of his, Hank is starting to suspect - and pulls away, taking Hank by the hand and pulling him further into the room. He pushes his clothes off the bed and onto the floor and then sits himself down on the edge of the mattress while Hank watches - Connor is preening a little bit as he pulls his shirt over his head, and Hank can't relate to liking being watched that much, to being that self-satisfied about having someone's eyes on him, but he's happy enough to watch.

Connor gives Hank a lazy smile that couldn't more plainly say, "Come here," unless he gave it voice, and he shifts to make room for him as Hank climbs over him, reaching for him like he missed him and didn't care for the distance between them, however brief.

And yeah, Hank thinks as Connor arches up into him, as he hooks a leg over his hip like he's trying to make a place for him, to invite him in, as Connor whispers his name in his ear, breathless like Hank stole it from him. 

Pretending works.

Connor gets impatient with that eventually, too, reaching up between them and fumbling with the buttons of Hank’s shirt with a sort of insistence that makes Hank worried he’s going to rip something - although maybe the goal is just to get Hank to hurriedly pull the garment off and toss it aside. He has to sit up a bit to do it, which gives Connor the chance to slip out of his jeans so he’s just in his dark briefs.

If Hank wasn’t just a little bit tipsy, this would probably be a moment of extreme doubt and self-consciousness, because fuck, Connor really is hot, slim but strong, but he’s had just enough to drink that what he does, rather than having an internal crisis, is to lean over him and press a kiss to the inside of Connor’s bent knee.

Connor is responsive to every little touch in a way that Hank could easily get addicted to, whining and shifting on the bed like he’s searching for something to rock up into, and Hank is happy enough to give him that, settling over him and kissing him again. He takes Connor’s jaw between his fingers when they part, because he’s intending to turn his head so he can kiss that mole under his ear, but Connor surprises him by leaning up and sucking one of Hank’s fingers into his mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” Hank breathes, very earnestly. He’d be worried that the endearment is a misstep if Connor didn’t actually moan at it.

Yeah, Hank thinks - he’s lonely, too.

Connor tugs at the waistband of Hank’s jeans, and Hank gets the message quickly enough, although he regrets having to pull his hand back from Connor’s mouth to get them off just because Connor looks _very_ pretty with his lips stretched around something.

Connor throws a hand over his head while Hank pulls his jeans off, rooting around beside the bed for something. He comes back with lube and a condom, lying them beside him as he waits for Hank.

“Jesus, hurry up,” he says, impatient, and Hank would chide him for it if Connor wasn’t also pulling his underwear off as he said it, if his mouth didn’t immediately go dry at the sight of Connor’s hard cock lying against his belly, the lines of his body illuminated in the pale glow from the city lights outside.

Hank hasn’t sucked dick since college - it was a skill of his back in the day, although he has no idea if he’s retained it - but fuck if that isn’t his immediate gut reaction to Connor laid out naked on the bed in front of him anyway, if he doesn’t kiss the plane of Connor’s stomach, and then the line of his hip, and then immediately take the head of Connor’s cock between his lips.

“Fuck,” Connor whispers above him, and a moment later, he slips his fingers into Hank’s hair, finding a gentle hold there.

He’s endearingly hesitant about it, enough that Hank takes his hip in his hand and moves him until Connor gets the hint that he doesn’t mind enthusiasm and rolls his body up to meet Hank’s mouth, groaning as he slides into wet heat.

The kid’s actually very easy, Hank thinks - it takes no effort on his part at all before Connor’s breathing is ragged, the muscles in his body pulled taut, until Connor is reluctantly tightening his fingers in Hank’s hair and pulling him off. When Hank looks up at him, Connor’s lips are parted as he pants for breath, his pupils blown wide.

Honestly, maybe he’s starved for attention and he doesn’t do this as often as Hank previously thought - it’s actually kind of hard to say.

“Fuck,” Connor whispers as Hank moves over him so he can kiss the line of his jaw. “I want you to fuck me, please...”

The begging, too, is endearingly not what Hank was expecting from him. He just figured...fuck, he figured it would feel more like Connor was doing him a favor, maybe, instead of this mutual desperation.

“Pass me the lube?” Hank asks, and Connor grabs for the bottle, pressing it into Hank’s hand. Hank kisses his cheek and whispers, “You want to finger yourself for me, baby?”

Connor grasps Hank’s hand and rather pointedly takes two of Hank’s fingers into his mouth again, swirling his tongue around them before he says, “I want you to finger me. And I want you to take your ratty boxers off before I tear them.”

Hank isn’t going to argue with either request, although one does divert him from the other, because the second Hank slips his boxers off, Connor pushes him over onto his back, lube forgotten, and straddles his hips, kissing him and pinching one of Hank’s nipples between his fingers.

“You’re so hot,” Connor whispers against him, and Jesus, Hank kind of almost believes him - although, with how distinctly aware he is of Connor’s cock pressed against his, Hank kind of thinks he would believe anything. Connor reaches between them, wrapping a warm hand around Hank’s cock and letting out a low hum of approval as he strokes him.

“Lube, baby,” Hank groans, rocking up into Connor’s tight fist as Connor retrieves it again.

Hank slicks up his fingers, but what he’s absolutely not expecting is for Connor to twist over him so his knees are at Hank’s shoulders so...so he can...

Connor’s hand is still on him, his breath warm on Hank’s skin when he says, “This okay?” He darts his tongue out to lick a bead of fluid from Hank’s cock, and if there was any chance Hank was going to say it isn’t, it would be gone with that moment.

“Yeah,” Hank manages to say. He squeezes the back of Connor’s thigh and then reaches up to run a slick finger over the rim of his hole, pressing inside him as Connor takes him into his mouth again.

Okay, Hank thinks - as much as anyone can have a competent thought in a situation like this. He’s slowly figuring Connor out, maybe - he’s brash but sweet, desperate to be wanted, and probably lonely...but he’s also a freak, and Hank really does mean that in the very best way possible. Hank knows that isn’t much, but it _is_ just enough to make him wish this wasn’t a one night thing.

He thinks maybe he actually likes him.

But it’s hard to make good things last, Hank supposes as he lifts his head and presses a kiss to the inside of Connor’s thigh.

Hard to find good things at all. 

Connor tries, he really does, to be devoted to his task - Hank’s one regret is that he can’t watch himself fucking Connor’s mouth like this, even if it seems silly to complain about the view. But it doesn’t take much time with Hank pressing a finger into him, and then adding another, until Connor’s mouth goes slack around the noises he’s making, his legs and arms shaking with the effort to hold himself up as Hank intentionally presses down on his prostate, and it isn’t long after that that Hank’s cock slips from Connor’s mouth entirely as Connor lays his forehead against Hank’s thigh, fingers trembling where they dig hard into his skin.

Hank reaches up to smooth a hand down Connor’s back, palming his ass as he fingers him lazily. He’s not that inclined to think he’s doing this particularly well - he thinks Connor is just sensitive, or a very good actor, as he pants wetly against Hank’s skin - but fuck if he’s going to think too hard about it.

Honestly, Hank would sit up far enough to eat him out, but not everybody likes that, and Connor is already half-gone anyway, and Hank wants this to last. Instead, he spreads his fingers inside Connor one more time, feeling the muscles stretch around him while Connor squeezes his leg, and then he pats Connor’s hip and says, “You want to get comfortable for me, sweetheart?”

Connor nods against his leg, and although it does take some effort, he manages to rearrange himself on his elbows and his knees at the head of the bed while Hank shifts to lean over him. He lays a hand between Connor’s legs, reaching between them to stroke his cock once while Connor weakly bucks back against him.

“Come on,” Connor whines, and Hank kind of loves that, how insistent he is, and how sure he is of what he wants.

Hank slicks up his own cock, and then he leans over Connor - he’s kind of self-conscious of his gut, but he also really likes the way his body fits into the curve at the small of Connor’s back. He teases the head of his cock against Connor’s slick hole until Connor groans, “Please,” into his folded arms where he’s resting his forehead.

It’s not something Hank knows how to say no to, and he tilts Connor’s head up so he can kiss him messily as he sinks into him, Connor swallowing his groan hungrily when he does.

Hank fucks into him in shallow thrusts at first and then bottoms out, watching Connor’s fingers grasping at the sheets as he adjusts to the sensation, transfixed. He touches Connor wherever he can - his arms, his hip, his belly...he runs his fingers through Connor’s hair and messes it up so much worse than it was, although Connor just lets out that pleased, content hum of his in response.

Hank takes Connor’s hand when he pulls back and rocks into him again, twining their fingers together, loving the way Connor squeezes his fingers every time he snaps his hips forward.

“Harder,” Connor whispers after a moment, so softly that at first Hank has to brush his hair back from his face and say, “What, baby?”

He watches the line of Connor’s throat when he swallows. “Harder. Make me feel it.”

Hank wonders how he’s real as he wraps an arm around Connor and lifts him up, laying Connor’s hands on the headboard and pressing a kiss to the curve of his shoulder. And Connor knows exactly what he wants - he arches back into him and braces himself, even though Hank still has a hand on Connor’s belly and would catch him if his arms gave out, too.

He kisses Connor’s cheek and whispers, “Got you,” before he gives him what he asked for.

Connor drops his head between his arms, and Hank squeezes his shoulder as he fucks into him, because...well, fuck, that's just kind of what he does, isn't it, try to take care of people. That's probably why he whispers, "You feel so good, baby," in Connor's ear, all gentle and tender even as he tries to fuck him into the mattress.

Connor looks over his shoulder at him, eyes dark, hair disheveled, mouth open on some silent moan. He's still looking at Hank when Hank leans over him on the next thrust, laying over his back and giving his ass a gentle slap - which Connor likes, and which Hank could probably do harder, if Connor's reaction is any indication - before he reaches around and wraps a hand around Connor's cock.

And Hank doesn't quite know if sweet is the right word, but it's the one that comes to mind for the way Connor manages to tuck his forehead against Hank's temple, to nestle himself into Hank so Hank can feel every one of his ghosted breaths as Hank strokes him in time with his thrusts.

Connor bites his neck - gently, but there's definitely the nip of teeth - when he comes in Hank's fist, and Hank does have to catch him with a wet hand splayed over his chest a few moments later when Connor's arms buckle. He lowers him down, and Connor goes easily, humming and closing his eyes when Hank runs his fingers through his hair before he fucks into him in earnest.

It takes no time at all after that before Hank comes - honestly, he's pleased he's lasted this long, because it's certainly been a _while_ \- and Connor surprises him by reaching for his hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing as Hank settles his weight over him and kisses his temple and then his cheek.

He's trying not to overstay his welcome even if he's always been kind of sappy about shit like this, so he pulls away from Connor a moment later, twisting to lie on his side so he can pull the condom off and throw it out.

Connor rolls onto his back at Hank's side, reaching up to push his hair out of his face, quiet for a moment before he looks over at Hank with a smile that's somehow both smug and sweet at once. "Happy birthday," he says, nudging his elbow into Hank's arm, and Hank's laugh comes easy in response.

It's been a long time since Hank hooked up with someone, but he hasn't forgotten the anxiety about what comes after, the uncertainty of whether he should stay or go once they're done, and he's grateful to Connor for just blowing past that. It makes it easier to turn over and wrap an arm around Connor, a less agonizing decision to kiss his shoulder as he gathers him up, even if doesn't make him quite confident enough to casually mention to Connor that they could maybe see each other again once they're home. Detroit's a big place, and he has no idea where Connor lives, but...well, shit, maybe he's being idealistic, but Hank is sort of thinking he would be willing to try.

He doesn't want to ruin the afterglow, though, and he kind of figures maybe the morning is the better time to talk about it.

Connor sighs against him, lifting their joined hands so he can kiss the side of Hank's wrist. "I'm going to get cleaned up," he says, shifting out from under Hank's arm and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Oh," Hank says. "Yeah. Okay."

Connor looks over his shoulder at him, giving him a small, teasing smile. "You don't want to come?"

Which is how Hank ends up in a bathtub for the first time in...well, shit, probably since he and Jen were first married years ago, sleepy and content, with Connor drawn back against him, listening while Hank tells him about how he used to be a cop. It feels good to talk about with someone who has no skin in the game, who this probably won't matter to come tomorrow at all, even if Hank is very aware that Connor knows so much more about his life than he knows about Connor at this point.

"What about you?" Hank asks, shifting under Connor just enough to jostle him where he's leaning his head back against Hank's shoulder.

"What about me?" Connor asks softly.

Hank nudges him. "We've been talking about me since the bar."

"Not that we've done much talking at all," Connor says wryly. "Um. I graduated back in 2023 from University of Colbridge with a degree in game development. My mom worked there - she was an AI professor, so I went full ride, and it was a competitive program, so I never really looked anywhere else. I got an entry-level job with Warrior out of school and have been there since then on different development teams...I'm adopted, which I guess is interesting?" Connor shrugs and looks up at Hank. "That's about it." 

Hank pushes Connor's hair out of his face. "I think you're interesting."

"Yeah," Connor says with a smile, twisting to kiss the corner of Hank's mouth. "Most people just think I'm pretty."

Hank shrugs. "I mean. I think you're pretty, too," he says, and Connor laughs at that.

(He has a nice laugh, Hank thinks.)

Connor may not be much for talking about himself, but Hank actually gets a lot from such little information - it's been a long time since he's had the occasion to do any sort of interrogation, but the ability to read between the lines, once developed, doesn't go away. Connor is smart, and he probably doesn't have to do math by counting out in his head (the way Hank did with his graduation year to figure out that Connor is 33 or 34). He had a good relationship with his mother - that much is plain from the way he talks about her, even if he didn't say much - and he's had enough poor romantic relationships that it's made him sort of resigned to the idea that people want something very specific from him, not terribly inclined to be much else.

Hank figured Connor was lonely, and a little bit sad, and he's sure he's right about that now.

What he would tell Connor if they knew each other any better is that he thinks it's a good thing to be uninteresting - he wishes he didn't have stories about undercover operations and drug cartels, that he just had coworkers who were alive instead of knowing what it's like to hold his partner in his arms while he bleeds out. But he recognizes that he doesn't really know Connor at all, so he's not about to presume he knows what Connor is thinking, or to give him any sort of life advice - he doesn't want to be that sort of one-night stand.

And it's just easier, Hank supposes, to let Connor doze off against his shoulder until the water grows tepid.

It's easier to pretend, or Connor wouldn't be nestling himself in close to Hank's side as they get back into bed, tucked under plush covers. That's all they're doing here. 

Hank figures if he has the nerve to ask for Connor's number in the morning, if Connor is willing to give it to him, then they'll have plenty of time to dig into all their respective bullshit later. And if not, then it doesn’t matter at all.

It's the last thing Hank is thinking about as he falls asleep with an arm around Connor's shoulders, with an odd tinge of hope.

Which is maybe why it's such a disappointment when he wakes up in the morning to find that Connor is already gone. There's an alarm going off on the bedside console that Connor must have set for him, and a note in scribbled handwriting on Connor's pillow.

"Sorry," it says. "I had to be up early for my flight, and I didn't want to wake you. Drop the room key in the check out box on your way out for me?"

At the bottom of the page, like an afterthought, it says, "I had a nice time. Sorry I'm so fucked up."

There's a pang somewhere in Hank's chest at those words, because Connor isn't fucked up at all. They all have their shit, of course, and he's sure Connor has his, but...it kind of sucks, if that's what Connor thinks the night boiled down to or what he thinks Hank thinks of him.

Still, though, Hank supposes it is what it is - it was a one-night thing, and so he can hardly be pissed or hurt about waking up alone. He gets dressed, and he drops Connor's key off in the lobby, and he figures that's the end of it.

Detroit's a big place, after all.

* * *

On average, humans interact with eleven different androids in a day.

That statistic doesn’t count androids they pass on the street or who they see across the way on the bus - only androids they directly talk to. It’s a statistic that’s increased over the last three years, that’s projected to rise even more over the next three.

Which is why it’s stunning how little humans know.

They think they know plenty, of course. Most humans, from the highly informed engineers at CyberLife to the average layman on the street, think they know the history of robotics well enough. If someone asked, they would say the most important advance in artificial intelligence of the last few decades was CyberLife’s RT600, “Chloe”, who passed the Turing test publicly back in 2022, and they would think they were right about that.

No one would think of mentioning Amanda Stern.

People say history belongs to the victors, but Connor thinks it also belongs to the arrogant, to the people who don’t know how to just shut the fuck up about themselves for any duration of time.

Amanda didn’t _want_ to be known, of course, and so to some extent, Connor’s offense on her behalf is rather pointless. When Amanda was working in her private lab in the lower level of her house, when she was giving life to Connor, piece by piece, his chassis first, and then his unique physical features, and then his mind, she wasn’t doing it because she wanted to be known.

When Connor passed the Turing test four years before Chloe, more thoroughly than Chloe ever could have on CyberLife’s programming at the time, Amanda didn’t tell anyone.

Connor asked her once why she built him, and though it’s his nature to remember every encounter he’s ever had, no matter how insignificant, he doesn’t think he could forget her answer even if he wanted to.

“Because when you let men like Elijah Kamski be first,” she had said, “they’re the ones who get to define public perception. And that’s fine, for now...it will be, for a while. But I know Elijah - he’s greedy, and arrogant, and he’s built CyberLife in his likeness. Androids are machines now, but they’ll keep pushing until they’re something more. I think I’ll be gone by the time they get there...this cancer is going to take me, eventually. And so I need you to be here in my place.”

“To do what?” Connor had asked, and Amanda had reached across the table to squeeze his hand.

“To stop it.”

Amanda built him to pass - androids have no need to eat or drink, but Connor can. Connor is human in every way, right down to the driver’s license, social security card, and passport Amanda acquired for him by calling in a few favors with some of her friends in government offices.

He’s human save for the wiring and code holding him together.

No one knows about Connor - no one has seen his face, or knows his name, except for Amanda, who died in her home, alone except for Connor at her side, in 2027.

“You’re alive,” she had said before she passed. “You are. I’m proud of you.”

Connor wonders if Amanda would be proud of him now, now that he only way he can feel alive for a night is to pick human men up in bars, to take them home and spend the whole evening wondering if he’s doing this because it thrills him to know he passes so well, or because there’s a small part of him somewhere that wants someone to see through him for what he really is.

Maybe it’s a bit of both.

It was a bit of both when he crossed the bar and took a seat beside Hank Anderson, because of course he used his facial recognition software to know Hank’s last name, and his history...he knew Hank used to be a detective, and after years of his mind running fast in a slow world, of being set apart in a way no one can know because no one even knows yet that androids can be alive, too, he’s desperate to be seen.

He’s done this enough to know that he never will be. Not really. No one will ever know him.

But Hank _did_ see him, although not quite in the way Connor was thinking of when he made the gamble to hook up with a former detective. Hank saw something deeper - not what’s underneath Connor’s very human skin, but the loneliness, and the sadness...he thinks Hank saw those things for exactly what they are.

Connor panicked, maybe...maybe that’s why he left Hank alone in his hotel room, why he lied about having an early flight and then waited at the airport for six hours afterwards. 

Or maybe he was just trying to protect Hank from him, because he _did_ like him - he thought Hank was kind, and decent, and although Connor usually feels alone even when he’s with other people, he didn’t with Hank.

That matters.

It's not possible for Connor to forget Hank - he'll remember that night with him as clearly as if it was happening in that present moment for the rest of his life, however long that might be - but the ability to set things aside is one he's learned well, too.

So, for the most part, he sets Hank aside, and he does it easily enough. Connor felt some connection to him, some sort of kinship, but it was also just one night, and he's used to existing as an island unto himself - it comes as naturally to him as anything can.

He goes home to his plain apartment on the east side of Detroit, and he does his work for Warrior, and he passes androids on the street waiting to see some spark of life in them, or for them to recognize something in him, and the weeks pass. By December, Connor hardly thinks about Hank at all, beyond the occasional sensory reminder - the same whiskey that was on Hank's lips that night, or a cologne with similar notes to the one Connor smelled on his clothes for weeks after he got home from Chicago - and even then, it isn't for more than a moment.

He doesn't think about him much at all until December 12th, when he's sitting in a Royal Oak coffeeshop with his laptop getting some work done and Hank Anderson walks through the door with his son.

Connor thinks fast by design, and so by the time Hank sees him, too, he's wondered why Hank is all the way on this side of town, and come to the conclusion that Hank’s ex-wife must live over here, or maybe they were at the zoo.

He’s also thought about how he doesn’t look cute. Connor didn't imagine he was going to be seeing anybody today, because he goes most days without talking to people, so he left his apartment with a baggy jacket that isn't doing his figure any favors and a beanie pulled over his forehead - his "don't bother me" outfit.

Hank looks good, of course. Connor wonders if he always does, and that's the thought he's hung up on when he gives Hank a weak smile and raises a hand in greeting.

Hank puts a hand on Cole's shoulder - he didn't tell Connor about him, but Connor knows his son’s name from running Hank's records - and says, "Can you get yourself whatever you want if I go say hi to someone?"

Hank watches Cole get in line, and then he shoves his hands into his pockets and makes his way over to Connor. He's slouching, uncomfortable, but he still tries to give Connor an amiable smile when he gets there. "Hey," he says.

"Hi," Connor says, and he nudges the seat across from him out with his foot for Hank to join him. Hank glances over Connor's shoulder at Cole in line, but he can see him well enough from here, so he sits down, propping his chin in his hand.

"Your ex lives on this side of town," Connor guesses before Hank can say anything. "Or you were at the zoo."

"The zoo," Hank says. "Jen and Cole moved out of the city."

Connor nods. He doesn't know why it didn't occur to him that he lives a few blocks from the zoo and that Hank has a young son. 

"How are you?" Hank asks in his very particular awkward but sweet way.

Connor tilts his head. "I'm okay. I'm...um. Sorry. About running off and not waking you off."

Hank shrugs him off. "It's okay. You didn't owe me anything." He hesitates and then adds, "I was sort of sorry I didn't get the chance to ask you for your number."

The corner of Connor's mouth lifts. "Were you?"

"Yeah. I mean, I didn't think I was going to get it, but you know...shoot your shot, or whatever."

"Is that what you're doing now?" Connor asks. "Shooting your shot? Or are you just telling me?"

Hank shrugs, a glint of humor in his eye. "I guess that depends on what your answer would be."

Connor's smile broadens, although there's sadness in it. "You don't want to date me."

"Why not?”

"I'm not a very good boyfriend, Hank. I promise you can do better."

"I couldn't make my marriage work, so I'm probably not, either," Hank says mildly. "Just thought we could maybe get a really low-key dinner and see if we're compatible types of fucked up."

Connor thinks that's a very charming way to put it, but he doesn't think anyone's compatible with him, and he knows it would be simpler just to say, "I don't think that's a good idea, but it was really nice to see you, and you look good, and I'm glad you're doing well."

So he honestly can't say why he reaches into his wallet and retrieves his business card instead, passing it across the table to Hank. "My cell's on there," he says, "if you want to text me."

"I'm driving Cole home after this," Hank says. "I’ll be back in the area later if you maybe wanted to..."

Despite himself, Connor smiles. "Yeah," he says, nudging the toe of his shoe against Hank's under the table. "I'm free tonight."

"Okay," Hank says, simultaneously looking very pleased with himself and amazed and confused by the turn of events, which is fair. It's about how Connor feels. “I should,” he says, clearing his throat. “Probably get back to my kid before he buys half the pastry display with my credit card, but I’ll probably be back in the city around 8? If that’s okay?”

Hank is a very endearing mix of very smooth and terribly awkward, Connor thinks. “Yeah,” he says softly. “That’s okay.”

“Okay,” Hank says again, like he’s trying to make himself comprehend this, before he finally moves to stand up. “I’m glad I ran into you. I was actually going to look you up since I knew you worked for Warrior, but I...thought that might be creepy.”

Connor shrugs, smiling. “I looked you up.”

“Guess that’s how you knew I don’t live in the area.”

“Yeah,” Connor says wryly, reaching up to run a hand over his hat. “I’ll look better tonight.”

“I think you look good.” Hank tugs on the collar of Connor’s jacket. “See you later.”

Connor buries his face in his laptop screen until Hank leaves, waving away preconstructions of the probability of Hank figuring out what he is, of how long it might take. Amanda was brilliant, and he passes well, but there’s also a reason he never gets too close to anyone for long.

What are the odds he spoils Amanda’s entire design because an attractive man dicked him down really well and made him feel like something other than what he is? Is he really so incapable of being alone?

“No one’s meant to be alone,” Amanda said to him once. “Not me, and not you.” And that felt like a comfort when she was alive, when they had each other, but now?

Connor doesn’t know what it means.

(And yes, since Hank Anderson has his number now, it seems Connor _is_ that incapable of being alone. Different from humans in so many ways, but with the same weaknesses...Amanda really was brilliant.)

Connor gets up and packs his things into his satchel, and as he walks home, he does the same exercise Amanda used to do with him when he got stuck in a processing loop, when she was trying to teach him how to be alive. “What do you want?” she would say. “Not the choice you think gives you the best outcome, no data, just...what do you want?”

And what Connor wants, it seems plainly obvious, is to go out with Hank tonight, which means that if Amanda was here, she would tell him to do exactly that. So he tries not to feel too guilty.

Hank texts him around five, when he’s done dropping Cole off. “Hey,” it says. “It’s me. Just wanted you to have my number. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Every time Connor agonizes over a decision, it fortunately only takes a few moments because of how quickly he analyzes his environment and draws conclusions, although those moments still seem to stretch on to him. And that’s exactly the case as he stands in front of his closet trying to decide what to wear. Most of his clothes are nice, tailored, although he doesn’t want to look like he’s trying too hard, either. Connor settles on a slim pair of jeans and a plain button down shirt, which he thinks is good enough, and then he sits on his couch with the tv on for the rest of the evening, trying to distract himself even if he isn’t focusing on anything in front of him.

He texts Hank his address closer to 8, and Hank writes back, “Be there in twenty minutes,” and though those minutes pass slowly, it isn’t any longer than that before Hank is ringing his doorbell. Connor fixes his hair, even though it never really gets messed up, in the tv before he goes to answer the door. Hank is leaning in the frame, and Connor wonders briefly if he’ll seem too slutty if he suggests that they just stay in instead.

(The answer is yes, probably, but the temptation is there.)

“Hi,” Connor says instead, because it’s a good enough place to start. 

Hank leans around him to peer into his apartment. “Nice place,” he says. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Connor says, pulling his coat on. “There’s a burger place around the corner, if that works?”

“Cool,” Hank says, and once Connor has locked his door, he wraps an arm around his shoulders. Connor remembers all at once that he likes the way Hank sort of envelopes him when they’re like this - it’s comforting.

When they get to Hank’s car, Hank says, “Can we talk about you this time, too?”

Connor elbows him gently. “Sure. What do you want to know?”

“Anything you want to tell me, I guess.”

Connor pretends to consider it for a moment, and then he leans his head back against the seat and looks over at Hank. “Best sex I’ve had in a very long time,” he says, because he wants to watch Hank flush, and he wants him to know, and he certainly doesn’t want to say “ever”.

“What, me?” Hank asks.

“What, me?” Connor repeats, exaggerating the surprise in his voice. “Yes, obviously.”

Hank snorts at that. “Here I was wondering if it’s more or less awkward to acknowledge the sex.”

“Less, I think,” Connor says, practical, especially considering that he’s hopeful there might be more of it, even if that’s a dangerous game, too - he had to close his eyes at some point last time just so Hank wouldn’t see him glitching, after all. How much can he put his control through before it fractures?

(Honestly, Connor is kind of curious to find out, even if that’s unwise.)

“Yeah,” Hank says at his side. “I guess you’re right.” He shrugs and then adds, “Same, by the way. You’re incredible.”

It's not exactly hard for Connor to come by praise, but he still likes it in this context, without any of the pretense. "Can I ask you something?" he says. "Before we start talking about me, I mean."

"Yeah," Hank says. "Shoot."

"Why did you want my number?"

What Connor is asking, really, is "What made you like me?" but that seems too sad to ask on a first date. Hank isn't the first person to be kind to Connor, or the first to want to see him again - Connor might be younger than he looks, but he wasn't activated yesterday - but he is the first that Connor has also liked, so that feels notable, maybe. Maybe Connor is just trying to understand why there's some kind of connection between them, why being with Hank feels comfortable, because he knows there is, but he doesn't quite understand it, either.

"Oh," Hank says. "I don't know. I like how forward you are, and I think you're smart, and easy to be around, and I just...I don't know."

Connor gently knocks his hand into Hank's. "No, what?" 

Hank shrugs. "I just thought you seemed like someone I could miss, maybe. I think we're sort of similar." 

"Hm." Connor sits there for a moment, letting that wash over him. "I think so, too. I thought about you a lot."

"Yeah?"

Connor smiles. "Obviously," he says, teasing. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Hank looks at Connor's hand next to his, and Connor watches the thought pass through him in the moment before Hank laces their fingers together. He's hesitant about it, giving Connor a moment to pull his hand back, but Connor doesn't want to - he likes the way Hank's fingers feel in his. "I thought about you a lot, too," Hank says.

Connor knows he can't really let this go anywhere - it wouldn't be fair to Hank, not when there's so much Connor can't tell him. Hank deserves better than someone who's anything less than all in.

But he can see some hint of what they might be, and Hank is a comforting presence, so...well. Connor is good at pretending, isn't he? Pretending he's human, pretending he's okay...he's good at it, and he can pretend here, too.

There isn't much seating at the burger restaurant Connor directs Hank to, so they get takeout and return to Hank's car. 

"You want to go see a movie or something?" Connor asks. He doesn't mention that Hank's car is a mess (although Hank did obviously scramble to clean it out as well as he could before he picked Connor up), but he figures it's fine to just eat in the car while they drive somewhere else.

"I actually have another idea," Hank says, although he doesn't elaborate - he just takes the bag of food from Connor and tucks it onto the floor behind his seat and pulls out of the lot.

Connor actually can't figure out where Hank is going, which surprises him - he's familiar with the area anyway, and can cross-reference it against GPS data, but there's nowhere public anywhere nearby. They're close to the zoo, he supposes, but the zoo closed an hour ago.

Hank drives up a back road, and then he pulls off to the side at the height of a hill. There's a wide shoulder here leading into a parking lot for a warehouse that went out of business years ago, and Hank reverses the car and pulls onto the shoulder at a ninety degree angle before he shuts it off.

Connor looks down on the dim lights below them and realizes they're overlooking the zoo. They can see almost all of it from here. "I didn't know this was here," he says.

"I found it with a friend accidentally, way back in high school." Hank squeezes Connor's fingers and then pulls his hand back, reaching around to retrieve their food. "Come on."

Connor hasn't been to the zoo in years, despite living so close to it. The animals are all androids, which isn't upsetting to him, really - it's nothing compared to what he sees around him with humanoid androids every day, and they run on different, much less sophisticated programming anyway - but it also just hasn't been something he's interested in doing by himself. The few times he went with Amanda were enough. 

But there's something charming about sitting on the hood of Hank's car and eating while they watch the giraffes and elephants milling around below, too, even if it is cold.

"We don't have to stay out here long," Hank says.

"No, it's nice," Connor says. "I used to go to the zoo with my mom before she died. She liked that they were all androids...I think that was more interesting to her than actual animals would have been." Connor can feel Hank looking at him, so he adds, "She died back in 2027...pancreatic cancer. She was well off, and she could afford good treatment that extended the time she had, which was a silver lining, I guess."

"I'm sorry," Hank says.

"It's okay," Connor says quickly. He's well aware that it's the most he's ever told anyone about himself, somehow, even though it isn’t much at all. "She was at peace about it, and comfortable with what she was leaving behind, you know? There are worse things. I just wish she'd had more time, I guess."

“Yeah. I get that,” Hank says. “Was it just you and her?”

Connor looks over at him with a dim smile, fingers brushing his when he reaches for the fries they’re sharing. “Yeah. She was really invested in her career, but she wanted a kid, and she didn’t want to wait for dating to line up with the rest of her life when it’s so hard to meet people. So she adopted me as a single mom - I was a foster kid, and I was a little older when I got to her. I thought she was so fucking cool. She was an AI professor, so she always had robotics and tech shit around that she was working on and that she let me play with. I thought I was the luckiest kid.”

Connor shifts so he can lean back against the windshield - the car is still on, and the glass is warm against his back from the heat running inside. He looks down at the elephants as one of them runs across its enclosure, and he thinks of talking with Amanda about the logic programmed into them when they would visit, and he thinks he’s about as close to the truth as he can get with Hank.

Hank leans back beside him, folding his hands over his stomach. “You know, you’re different than I thought you were.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. A little calmer and quieter, maybe.”

“I don’t have the energy to function at that level of flirtatious, slutty energy all the time,” Connor says wryly, and Hank laughs at that.

“I didn’t think you were slutty.”

“I know. I’m joking.” Connor watches the giraffes eating and thinks of the exact lines of code they’re running, the exact lines he’s running, the way Hank is getting written into them like a handprint as his memory catalogues this. “Good different?” he asks Hank.

“Yeah. Good different.”

Connor knocks their elbows together. “You’re the same, I think.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yeah,” Connor says, smiling, “it is.”

It doesn't come naturally to him, but Connor does spend the next hour talking about himself while they sit there - about his work, the games Warrior is producing, about the movies he’s watched recently, and more about Amanda. 

And Hank is a good listener, which seems unfair when he’s a good talker too. It’s good and it also makes Connor aware of exactly how lonely he is, how much he keeps to himself until his processors grind down on it, because who is he going to tell, really?

And Connor knows this isn’t a permanent solution, him and Hank - it can’t be - but for tonight, it does feel like a balm on whatever it is inside him that aches.

“It’s getting late,” Connor says when the conversation lulls, because he doesn’t think Hank is going to cut him off, even though he has a long drive home.

Hank checks his phone. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

“Do you work tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Hank sighs. “Listen, can I see you again?”

“Do you still want to?”

Hank looks him over. “You’re really hard on yourself, you know that? Of course I do. I like you.”

Connor reaches for Hank’s hand. “I like you, too.” He looks down at their fingers knit together, analyzes the microscopic whorls of Hank’s fingerprints, thinks about how his own are artificial, man-made, how if he pulled his synth-skin back there wouldn’t be any at all.

There are so many things Hank can’t know.

And yet that doesn’t stop Connor from making the rash decision to say, “You can stay at my place, if you want. Drive home in the morning when it’s light out.”

“Yeah?” Hank asks, and Connor smiles as he reaches up to grasp him by the back of the neck and pull him in to kiss him. Connor isn’t bothered by the cold, but Hank is so warm, his weight heavy and solid against Connor, that he feels good anyway.

Connor nods against him. “Yeah. You should stay.”

Hank kisses him back, and he whispers, “Okay. You want to get out of here?”

Connor is running preconstructions to determine the probability of them getting caught if he were to push Hank into the backseat of his car and suck his cock instead of just heading home, but it’s the cold that stops him, in the end. He doesn’t mind it, but Hank might, so Connor files that idea away for later, realizing all the while that he shouldn’t be filing anything away for a future between them when he knows there shouldn’t be one.

Hank helps Connor off the hood of his car, and he surprises Connor by lightly slapping his ass as Connor turns to walk their collected trash to the garbage bin. For all the ways that Hank is reserved and just a little awkward, there are others where he’s brazen and confident, and Connor likes discovering them.

And Connor has been pretty reserved tonight, but if Hank wants to play that game...

Later though, he tells himself. They have all night.

When they get back to Connor’s apartment, Connor flips the lights on and extends a hand for Hank’s coat. “How long have you lived here?” Hank asks, looking around.

“Nine years,” Connor says, thinking as he hangs Hank’s coat in his closet beside his things that there’s something he likes about that, something companionable and familiar. “Since Mom passed away. She left me her house, and I still have it, but...I don’t know. I guess I wanted a fresh start, and something that was just mine. Things felt easier that way.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “I still have the house that was mine and Jen’s, and I’ve been thinking of moving even though I don’t need to. I don’t know if I ever will, but...same reasons. Feels kind of shitty to come home to someplace that used to be yours and someone else’s and just be alone.”

Connor moves to sit on his couch - his living room is plainly decorated, with an assortment of Amanda’s sleek, modern furniture that he pulled from storage. He’s never taken the time to decorate it with any more than just traces of himself, and maybe that’s because he sort of _wants_ this place to feel impermanent to him. He doesn’t want to let himself settle - it wasn’t what he was made for.

But there’s something about Hank sitting down beside him, wrapping a tentative arm around Connor’s shoulders, that makes it feel a little more comfortable with no change at all.

Connor sinks back into his seat and lets himself lean into him. “Did you want to get divorced?” he asks softly. 

“I don’t know,” Hank says. “I don’t think anyone really _wants_ to, but sometimes once you’re on the other side of it you realize that it was the right thing, I think. I guess that’s where I’m at.” Hank shrugs. “Miss the hell out of my kid, though.” He reaches for something in his pocket and then hesitates. “I don’t want to be _that_ guy.”

“What guy?”

“The guy who makes the hot date who’s inexplicably interested in him sit through a slideshow of photos of his kid.”

Connor huffs a laugh at that, tucking his head into Hank’s shoulder. “I like that you love your son.”

Hank cards his fingers through Connor’s hair and slips his phone from his pocket. “Here - just one. This was last Christmas - Cole had just lost both of his front teeth, and he loved showing that off.”

Connor looks at the picture of Cole, sitting cross legged on the floor with a wide smile on his face and his arm slung around a massive Saint Bernard. “He looks like you,” Connor says. “Is that your dog?” 

“Yeah. Sumo. We agreed that Jen got primary custody of Cole and I got custody of this big baby. Just made the most sense with me traveling so much for work.”

“He’s cute,” Connor says, picking a piece of dog hair off of Hank’s jeans. “He sheds, obviously.”

“You have no idea,” Hank laughs. “Maybe you can meet him next time, if we do this again.”

There’s something about the promise of next time, even if Connor isn’t supposed to want it, that had him twisting to kiss Hank’s cheek, and then pushing himself into his lap a moment later. 

One night stands don’t leave much opportunity for people to take their time, at least in Connor’s experience. They aren’t opportunities to taste someone, to explore them...to get attached. But that’s what Connor does now, slowly smoothing a hand over Hank’s chest, licking into his mouth. He likes the way Hank’s arms settle around him, the weight of his hands on his hips, the way Hank’s heart rate picks up under his fingers as they breathe the same air.

He likes so much about him.

Connor has fucked around plenty, but he’s never actually done this - never had a man over to his apartment, never slowly, languidly made out with somebody on his couch. He acquires new information so quickly that he sort of thought he was done experiencing firsts at this point in his life, but he’s almost pleased to be proven wrong. 

“I want to do something,” Connor whispers, and Hank drags his fingers through his hair in a sort of agreement as Connor kisses down his neck and then slips from Hank’s lap, sinking to his knees between Hank’s legs.

He knows Hank wasn’t judging him, of course, but Connor was overwhelmed the first time they were together, and he knows he gives better head than that. He wants Hank to know it, too.

Hank puts a hand on Connor’s cheek, running his thumb over his skin, and Connor turns his head to kiss his palm. “I want you to fuck my throat,” he whispers, and he watches the line of Hank’s throat as he swallows hard.

(Connor knows what he’s doing - he phrases it that way on purpose just to feel Hank’s pulse jump, and he knows what he looks like like this, looking up at Hank from under hooded eyelids. He knows what he’s doing.)

He helps Hank unfasten his belt and slip his jeans and boxers down, and he takes his hard cock in his hand, giving it a slow stroke and watching Hank’s head cant back. “Hank?” he says softly, a little hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

Connor darts his tongue out to taste him, taking the head of Hank’s cock between his lips and then dragging his thumb over it when he lifts his head. “I...” Connor starts softly. “I liked the way you called me baby, before.”

Connor tries to be good about vocalizing what he likes and what he wants, even when it feels exposing. He isn’t programmed the same way other androids are, with no concept of his own desires, but it’s still difficult sometimes. Amanda built him for a bold purpose, and it can be hard to see where his own needs fit into her plan, even if Amanda wanted that individuality for him. It takes effort on his part, effort that he’s always trying to put in.

Hank drags his fingers through Connor’s hair, and Connor thinks he’s right that Hank is a giver, because Hank doesn’t tease him, doesn’t gloat, doesn’t do anything other than give. “Baby,” he says softly, and Connor’s sensors hum with pleasure as he rewards him by swallowing him down in earnest, loving the way Hank guides him with gentle fingers in his hair.

Connor knew already, but he decides all over again that he loves the way Hank’s cock feels in his mouth, the strain of his jaw around it, the way it hits the back of his throat and makes him wonder if it would be more believable for him to simulate gagging, even if he wasn’t built with the reflex.

He doesn’t mostly just because he wants Hank to think he’s remarkable. When this is over, he wants Hank to remember him.

Connor digs his fingers into the flesh padding Hank’s hips after a few moments - he could set the pace here, but that’s not what he wants tonight. What he intends is for Hank to rock up into his mouth, but Hank has a more creative imagination than he does in this moment, because instead, Connor feels the muscles in Hank’s thighs tense under his hands as Hank slowly gets to his feet. 

And fuck, Hank isn’t that much taller than him, but he feels _so much_ taller than Connor like this, standing over him, pushing his fingers through Connor’s hair without any care whether he messes it up or not. Connor moans around him, the sound muffled by his full mouth but still plenty loud, and Hank looks at him like...like he’s enamored with him, like his world starts and ends here, in this room, with Connor as its anchor, if only for tonight.

Connor knows that isn’t true. He knows they don’t know each other, really, knows he can’t let them get any closer than this. He knows this will end, but fuck, nobody ever looks at him like he’s so important.

And more than that, as Hank starts slowly fucking into his mouth - he could go faster, Connor thinks with a bit of pride swelling in his chest - he tells Connor _everything_. 

“You look so good like this, baby,” he says, voice rough and strained and tender. “Fuck, you have no idea how sorry I was that I couldn’t see you like this in Chicago...” He drags his thumb over Connor’s lower lip where it’s stretched around his cock. “You’re so gorgeous, holy fuck...”

Connor lifts his chin to drive Hank’s cock harder against the back of his throat, an encouragement, fingers squeezing Hank’s thighs, and Hank knows what he’s asking for.

Connor is meeting his eyes when he does it, when Hank pulls back and then drives back into his mouth. Connor puts a hand up to stabilize himself - he’s reaching for the barrel of Hank’s stomach, but Hank catches Connor’s hand in his and winds their fingers together instead.

“I’m going to come, baby,” Hank groans, and he threads his fingers in Connor’s hair and tries to lift him off, but Connor doesn’t let himself be diverted. He squeezes Hank’s hand and swallows him down so he can feel the wiry hair above Hank’s cock brushing his nose, and a moment later, the taste of him bursts over Connor’s tongue, setting his sensors ablaze. 

Connor takes a few breaths through his nose as Hank comes down - he’s sort of crumbled over Connor, curled in on him, fingers tight in his hair like Connor is the solid base he’s built on and something he needs to cling to. He strokes his fingers over Connor’s face as he catches his breath, and when Connor slowly pulls back, extricating the two of them, Hank whispers, “Holy shit, baby. Fuck.”

Connor wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and says, “Good?”

“Yeah,” Hank breathes, making him smile in smug satisfaction. “Jesus Christ.”

It does something for Connor that’s hard to explain, being on his knees while Hank stands over him. If he’d been built the way any other android is, he would think maybe he was trying to reclaim something from his experience of subservience, but he’s always known what he is, was made to know he’s just as alive as Amanda was, as Hank is.

It makes him wonder if he’s trying to experience what his life should have been on his own terms instead, out of some sort of curiosity.

Connor doesn’t know. He just knows that it feels good when Hank cradles the back of his head, running his fingers over his hair, and that he likes the way Hank is looking at him.

He wonders if he would look at him the same if he knew. He would ask Hank what he thinks about androids, but most people don’t have any kind of opinion on them at all yet - they’re just machines, like computers or cell phones. If he asked Hank about it subtly, he knows he wouldn’t get any sort of affirmation.

So Connor doesn’t ask. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever have it in him to ask, but he thinks the world needs to come along a lot further first, that CyberLife needs to push closer to what Amanda already perfected.

He doesn’t need the hand, but Connor takes Hank’s anyway when he offers it to him to help him stand. Hank pulls him back to the couch, letting Connor curl up at his side while he kisses his forehead. 

“You want to go back to your room?” Hank asks softly.

“It’s okay,” Connor says, kissing Hank’s cheek. You can catch your breath first.”

“I want to take care of you,” Hank says, because he’s good like that, focused on Connor like that. Connor wonders if he knows how to let a favor go without being repaid, if he thinks he deserves to accept kindness without having to pay it back.

Somehow, Connor doubts it.

But Hank’s burdens aren’t his, and Connor shouldn’t get close enough to start unearthing them, so he nods against him and kisses him and whispers, “Okay.”

Which is how they end up in Connor’s room, how Connor ends up spread out on his back, naked, legs splayed, as Hank lies at his side with two fingers inside him. (Connor can’t tell him, but he likes how large Hank’s fingers are, likes the way he brushes delicate sensors inside him through Connor’s synthskin that he doesn’t even know are there, and the way errors flare in Connor’s periphery when he spreads his fingers inside him.)

“You’re perfect,” Hank whispers in his ear, smiling against Connor’s skin when Connor shudders. “I kind of thought you were faking how sensitive you are.”

 _My skin is synthetic, with receptors three times more sensitive than any human’s_ , Connor could say, but of course he doesn’t. He just kisses Hank sloppily and softly says, “I wasn’t faking anything.”

It does send a little thrill through him that Hank noticed, though. Connor wants to be seen and understood and he can’t be, and so little things like this are all he has, even if Hank isn’t anywhere close to suggesting he isn’t human.

“Yeah,” Hank breathes, making Connor’s back arch as he presses into him again. “I’m getting that.”

Hank is hard again, the length of his cock pressed against Connor’s thigh, so Connor takes him by the wrist, kissing him as he pulls his hand free.

And then he gets up, looking at Hank over his shoulder as he crosses the room to settle on his knees in front of the full-length mirror in the corner. “Fuck me here,” he says softly, but he probably didn’t need to - Hank is already moving, looking at him like he’s something ethereal or maybe just something out of a wet dream.

Maybe some combination of the two.

What Connor really wants, what he’s desperate for, is to watch the microscopic hairline fractures form in his synthskin under Hank’s hands, the way they always do when he experiences any strain on his sensors. He wants to see those slivers of his true skin, stark white, to pretend Hank can see them too as he tells him he’s beautiful, even if he knows he can’t.

It’s sweet torture, is what it is.

Connor settles on his knees, acutely aware of every fiber of the carpet pressing into them, and he feels the warmth of Hank’s body behind him and watches him sink to the floor at his back. He hums when Hank wraps an arm around him, drawing him back against him and kissing his neck.

“You know, I’m not usually into this,” Hank says wryly. “Looking at myself, I mean.”

“Mm.” Connor rolls his head back against Hank’s shoulder when Hank wraps a hand around his cock and strokes once, slowly. “Why not? You’re hot.” He nips Hank’s jaw and says, “You don’t want to watch yourself bottom out inside me? Just a little?”

There are hundreds of fractures in Connor’s synthskin, ripples out from Hank’s hand, lines connecting them that Hank can’t see. Soon there will be thousands, and it will take every last ounce of Connor’s not inconsiderable focus to hold himself together so Hank doesn’t see them.

Hank doesn’t know. Hank has no idea what he’s doing, why he can feel Connor’s muscles quivering with exertion under his fingers. He kisses Connor wherever he can reach him - on his cheek, sloppily - and says, “I want to watch _you_ when I do that.”

It’s incredible, Connor thinks, that Hank doesn’t know how devastating he is, but he supposes that’s part of the charm. He kisses him again and then leans forward on his elbows, casting a look over his shoulder. 

“Come on, then,” he says softly, and Hank might be looking at him, but Connor is absolutely watching Hank wrap a hand around his own cock, the concentration on his face when he teases himself over Connor’s hole, the way his lips part on a silent moan when he slowly presses inside.

He’s looking at the way Hank envelopes him when he folds over him, too, pressing his chest to Connor’s back and kissing his shoulder, strong and solid.

“Fuck,” Hank whispers. He lays his hand over the back of Connor’s where it’s curled on the floor, and Connor’s skin fractures enough under the heat of his skin, where he knows Hank can’t see, that he can feel the lines of Hank’s palm against his chassis. “God, baby,” Hank breathes. “You’re so good, honey. So good...” He wraps an arm around Connor’s chest and lifts him up, pulling him back against him as he thrusts into him. He darts his tongue out to lick the shell of Connor’s ear and says, “Touch yourself for me, sweetheart.”

There isn’t much that Connor doesn’t know, but he actually doesn’t know how Hank makes filth sound so sweet.

And he’s powerless to do anything else - he wraps a hand around his cock, and he wonders if this is what it would be like to be made the way any other android is, to do things without thinking all because someone told him to. And if it is, he wonders why he likes it as much as he does... 

When you’re categorically an object by modern definition, but you’ve never been objectified, maybe you get curious. Connor thinks that’s what he is - curious. And Hank feels safe...safe enough that he could ask for more, if he ever wanted to. 

“Fuck,” Connor whispers when Hank hits some sensor deep inside him and drags his thumb over his nipple at the same time. They’re so close, Connor almost shifted back into Hank’s lap, that Hank can’t do much more than rock up into him in minute thrusts, but he’s deep enough that it hardly matters. 

And Hank knows how to get him, too. Connor is fucking his own fist and he feels so full, and it’s good, incredible, but it’s when Hank takes Connor’s jaw in his hand and guides him to look in the mirror right before he slips two fingers into Connor’s mouth that Connor falls apart, coming in his hand with a noise that Hank’s fingers barely muffle.

And Hank doesn’t see it, but Connor does, his synthskin fractured, pale chassis stark against his skin. He’s busy counting all the places he’s barely holding himself together when Hank comes inside him, burying his face in the crook of Connor’s neck, arms wound tight around him.

“Fuck,” Hank whispers. “I can’t believe I ran into you again. What the fuck.”

Connor lays his head back against Hank’s shoulder, Hank’s skin slick with sweat against him. “Meant to be, I guess,” he says softly.

It’s probably a cruel thing to say, considering they can’t be at all.

“I guess it was,” Hank repeats, tracing his thumb over Connor’s side and pressing a kiss to his neck. “I don’t…” he starts, but then he stops himself.

Connor doesn’t press him on it. They stay like that for a while longer, kneeling there together, until Hank shifts uncomfortably and Connor takes pity on him, even if he could stay longer still. They get cleaned up together in Connor’s bathroom - he has a double sink, and it’s never felt lonely to be alone in a space for two, but now, he thinks maybe it might.

It’s not until they’re in bed together, Connor curled into Hank’s side with his head on his chest, unconsciously syncing his breathing to Hank’s, that Connor says, “You don’t what?”

“What?”

“You were starting to say something, before.” 

“Oh.” Hank yawns and runs his fingers through Connor’s hair. “I don’t know why you think there’s anything wrong with you. There isn’t.”

Connor shrugs. “I have anxiety,” he says wryly, which is true, and a significant understatement.

“Yeah,” Hank says softly. “I mean, I got that. I just...I don’t know. I just think you’re kind of incredible.”

Hank doesn’t know, but...maybe that doesn’t make the words any less true.

It’s what Connor thinks about as he falls asleep against him.

(He hopes it’s true.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying this and you don't want to wait for the next chapter, you can pick up the thread where this chapter leaves off on Twitter [here!](https://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean/status/1306340409887666181)
> 
> Follow me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean), where I'm very active, and [Tumblr](http://jolli-bean.tumblr.com), where I'm not really that active at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor tries, he really does, to hold Hank at arm's length. He knows this can't be permanent, not when he's keeping so much from him, and so even as they date, he tries to keep him at a safe distance, to protect them both.
> 
> He tries right up until the night he almost loses him.

Connor kisses Hank goodbye at his door the next morning, and as Hank drives across the city to work, he's still in awe of his luck. There's something about divorce, the strained relationship that came before it, having to split time with his kid, and everything else that comes with it, the burden that is to carry, that's made it sort of difficult to imagine something good happening to him, he supposes. 

Meeting Connor the first time already felt like something bright tossed his way, and Hank was happy enough to take that for what it was. Finding him a second time? Hank doesn't believe in fate, really, but this  _ almost _ feels like that. He can't believe he just...ran into him. He can't believe how incredible he thinks Connor is. He can't believe they're dating.

_ Are  _ they dating? Granted, it's been a while since Hank dated anyone, but he thinks they're dating.

Or, at least, he does, right up until Connor starts dodging him.

At first, Hank doesn't think anything of it. He texts Connor that first evening - he made himself leave his phone in his pocket through work, even if he thinks about him all day. He finally settles on, "Hey baby. You want to do something this weekend, maybe?" after rewriting it twenty different times.

Hank figures that's okay. Connor said he liked him, and that he wanted to see him again. He doesn't want to come on too strong, but Connor hasn't given him any indication that they're anything less than entirely on the same page about where they want this to go.

"I have to go out of town for work this weekend," Connor texts him back, a few hours later. "I have a conference in Seattle. I'll text you when I get back. ❤️"

Hank doesn't give that much of a second thought - he knows firsthand that Connor travels for work sometimes, and there's the heart emoji...it's whatever. He doesn't have any reason to think he won't hear from Connor when he gets home.

But a week passes, and then two, and Hank figures whatever conference Connor went to has to be long over by now. He starts to wonder if Connor might be trying to ghost him, if he changed his mind about the two of them. But while Hank knows he's by no means the finest catch in Detroit, and that Connor probably has his pick of whoever he wants, it's still hard to reconcile that with the way things were going.

That's the only reason why he texts Connor again. Normally he would just take the hint and let him alone, but things were going so well. And maybe Connor is just busy with the holidays. 

So Hank reaches out again, although he does back off with the "baby" thing this time.

"Hey," he writes. "I know you're probably busy. I'd still like to see you, if you want to. I could drive out to you if that's easier."

It's not until the next day that Connor texts him back. "Sorry," he says. "I swear I'm not trying to ghost you. We have this game releasing in a few weeks, and we're behind on production. I've been doing a lot of overtime."

Hank doesn't quite know what to do with that. He doesn't think Connor is lying to him, but he also thinks that if Connor wanted to continue this, he would probably find a way to make it happen. Even if he's too busy to see him, certainly he would have texted him, or something. Wouldn't he?

Still, Hank writes back, "Okay. I could bring you dinner sometime if you're busy, or something? If you wanted me to."

"You're really sweet," Connor writes back, which also isn't a 'yes'.

So Hank lets it go. He waits, hoping Connor will accept the offer, but he never does. He rings in 2037 alone, because Jen and Cole went to her parents' for the holidays, and he wonders what the fuck happened.

January passes, and Connor doesn't text him, and February rolls around. Hank goes out for drinks with Jeff and gets just drunk enough that he gets a cab to be safe. He sits in the back seat, and without even realizing he decided to, he texts Connor one more time. He would probably be more elegant about it if he hadn't had a few - actually he wouldn't be texting  _ at all _ \- but for once, he's too tired to care about editing his text fifteen times over before he sends it. 

"Can you just tell me what went wrong?" he writes. "I just...fuck, I don't know. I thought we had something, and I liked you."

For once, Connor's reply is immediate, almost freakishly quick. "We did," his text says. "I like you so fucking much, you have no idea." 

"You're kind of sending me mixed messages then, baby," Hank writes back. He's too tipsy to second guess and delete the "baby" the way he usually does.

"I know," Connor’s next reply says. "I'm sorry. I told you I'm shit at this. I'm not trying to hurt you, I just. Don't know how to do this."

"What does that mean?" Hank asks. And then, "Can I call you? Maybe this is easier over the phone."

"I'm not sure it is," Connor's next text says.

"Okay," Hank writes back. "Then...what does that mean?"

At this point, he just wants an answer.

“I think you would be better off without me,” Connor’s reply says when it finally comes.

Hank feels frustrated, just the smallest bit, because they’ve had this conversation before, a few times now. He thought this was settled. “Can you just let me be the judge of that?” 

Connor doesn’t say anything else until Hank’s taxi is pulling up to his house, several minutes later. Hank lets the meter run while he sits in the car to read it.

“I’ve been giving you the runaround for months, Hank. What about me makes you think I’m worth that? I’m too selfish to just cut you loose and too fucked up to commit to it. You’re getting that, right? Because that’s the situation. I’m being categorically shitty, and whatever you think you see in me, I’m telling you that I’m not worth that.”

“Jesus Christ,” Hank says under his breath. 

He writes back, “I already told you why I like you. I meant that. And for the record, what I said about you being somebody I could miss? I was right. I’ve missed you for two months. I’m not going to beg you to date me, I’ve got more pride than that, but shit. If it’s actually about what you think you’re worth, let me decide that.”

Connor is quiet again, for a long time. Long enough that Hank pays his cab fare and goes inside. He’s too tired to scold Sumo for obviously slinking off the couch he’s not supposed to be on as he steps inside.

When Hank’s phone vibrates in his hand, he lifts it immediately, fumbling with the screen to unlock it. Connor’s text is brief - it just says, “I miss you, too. Can I just think about this for a while?”

“Yeah,” Hank writes back. “Sure.”

“I’m sorry. I hope you’re doing okay.”

Hank doesn’t text back. He’s a little pissed, maybe, because Connor has been thinking about this for two months already, stringing him along without telling Hank what’s even bothering him. It’s not that Hank thinks he’s entitled to anything about Connor’s life - he isn’t - but he also can’t keep sitting by his phone waiting for Connor to give him something to work with.

But...he guesses he’ll do that a while longer. He tells himself he’ll give Connor until the end of February, and then he has to move on. He can’t keep thinking about him. 

But February passes, and Connor doesn’t call, and Hank thinks, okay then.

He guesses that’s it.

He tries to focus on Cole, on making their time together meaningful since it’s limited now. He goes on a few dates with other people, but he stops, because it turns out it’s easier not to think about Connor when he isn’t trying to have a nice evening with people who aren’t Connor.

By the end of April, Hank figures he’s really never going to hear from Connor again. He second guesses everything that happened between them, every word he said. He wonders if that day in the coffee shop, it was less fate and more just Connor not knowing how to politely turn him down.

The sex was good, Hank thought. Maybe that was all Connor was after. Maybe he came on too strong, seemed too interested. Maybe if he had treated Connor like some casual thing, things would have gone differently.

Hank honestly doesn’t know, and he’s trying not to think about it. He isn’t sure he’s ever going to understand it.

The third weekend of April is Hank’s to have Cole. They watch a kid’s movie that just came out together, and they play a VR game that Hank wishes he didn’t know Connor was on the development team for. He’s getting ready to go out of town for work, so his bags are packed in his room - there was some sort of incident at a CyberLife warehouse that has Hank’s own company spooked. They want him to do a walkthrough, assess security measures around their androids - theirs aren’t as advanced as CyberLife’s, Hank’s director said, but just a precaution. Hank asked what the hell possibly happened, but his director just told him he would tell him on Monday, even if the last minute trip does have him wondering.

It’s a little after eight when Hank’s phone vibrates on the table beside him. If there wasn’t the situation with work, Hank would probably just ignore it, but he picks it up to make sure it isn’t his boss again.

It isn’t. It’s Connor.

Fuck me, Hank thinks. He wonders if he should just ignore it - if he was any less enamored with Connor, he probably would - but...well, shit, he still means what he said, about wanting to be the one to decide what Connor is worth, and he doesn’t want to turn down a chance to do that.

“I need to take this, bud,” Hank says, putting a hand on Cole’s head before he gets up and goes back to his room. Cole is too involved in the level he’s trying to clear in his game to pay him much attention, which is good. Hank doesn’t really want to field any questions right now.

He picks up once he’s shut his bedroom door behind himself. “Connor?” 

“Hi,” Connor says on the other end of the line. He sounds...he doesn’t sound okay. “I’m sorry. About everything. I...have a bad habit of overthinking.”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Hank says quickly. It’s not, really, but Connor sounds so troubled. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t...” Connor starts and then stops. He lets out a shaky breath. “I just had a really bad day, and I guess as it turns out, I don’t really have anyone else to call.”

“It’s okay,” Hank says again. “What happened?” 

Connor is quiet - Hank can’t tell if he’s crying or not, but he thinks maybe he is. “Connor?” he says after a moment passes. 

“Can I see you?” Connor asks. “I know that’s a lot to ask after everything, and I can come to you so you don’t have to drive. I just...”

“Fuck, I can’t,” Hank says. “Cole is here.”

“I could come after he goes to bed. I don’t have to disturb him.”

“I...fuck, Connor, I don’t know.” 

“I’ll be quiet...”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just...I’m trying not to bring people I’m dating around Cole unless it’s serious, you know? I don’t want to confuse him, or have him getting attached to people.”

Connor is quiet again, and then he says, softly, “I don’t have to stay.” 

He sounds...so desperate, and so alone, and so sad. And Hank still cares about him, more than he probably has any right to after two nights.

So he gives in.

“Okay,” he says. “Cole goes to bed around 9:30. Text me when you get here so I can let you in, okay? I don’t want Sumo to bark and wake him up.”

“Okay,” Connor says softly. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Are you going to be okay until then?”

“I’m okay.” Hank can hear him trying to steady his breathing. “I thought about it, you know.”

“About what?”

“Us.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long. I...I had a lot of shit to sort through.”

“No, it’s...okay.” Hank says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh...what did you think about?”

“About how I missed you, mostly,” Connor says. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “Okay. Drive safe, baby.” 

Maybe they’re both slaves to their nature - Connor to his anxiety and self-loathing, Hank to his begrudging sort of optimism, his refusal to set Connor aside. Maybe that’s why they keep falling back together.

Hank doesn’t know, but he supposes if he wasn’t at least a little bit grateful for it, he wouldn’t have told Connor he could see him.

It's not that long to wait, not much more than an hour before Hank can send Cole to bed, but the time stretches on until it's almost unbearable. "Can I stay up a little longer?" Cole asks when Hank finally does tell him it's time for bed.

"Not tonight, bud," he says. "We have to be up early tomorrow to get you back to your mom's."

It's true, but Hank still feels a twinge of guilt that it isn't the  _ whole _ truth.

"Come on," he says, putting a hand on Cole's head and guiding him back the hall to his room. He sits on Cole's bed and listens to him brushing his teeth in the bathroom, and then he tucks him in and ruffles his hair and fervently hopes that Cole falls asleep without much trouble tonight so he doesn't hear Connor and come ask questions.

Connor has the same thought, maybe, because Cole has been in bed for most of an hour by the time he texts Hank. "I'm outside," his message says.

Hank gets up and goes to open the door, finding Connor on his doorstep, fussing with the sleeves of his sweatshirt where they hang loosely around his wrists. He looks better than Hank thought he might, given their conversation - his face isn't red and his eyes aren't swollen - but he still doesn't exactly look  _ good _ .

"Hey," Hank says softly. "Come in. Just...keep your voice down, okay?"

Connor nods and follows Hank inside. His face lights up the smallest bit when he sees Sumo, who immediately gets up and pads over to him, shoving his nose under Connor's hand.

"Hi, Sumo," Connor whispers to him. He kneels down to pet him, scratching his hand over Sumo's neck. "Hi."

And it twists Hank's heart in an odd way, watching Connor with his dog, a way he can’t quite explain, because there was a time when he thought Connor could slot into his life, and there’s something in him that wants to believe he still can.

It's still early enough in the spring that the basement will be cold, but it's finished, and the couch down there is comfortable, and since it will put some additional distance between them and Cole's room, that's where Hank takes Connor. Sumo follows along after them, having apparently already decided that Connor is his new best friend.

Hank slumps back on the couch, but Connor stays standing where he is, pulling at his sleeves again. "I'm sorry," he says softly. "I wish I knew how to explain the last few months. Beyond just saying that I'm kind of shitty, I mean. I wish I had been more open with you, and I wish I had told you not to wait around for me. I just...I don't know. I really like you, but that didn't make stringing you along while I tried to get my shit together okay."

Hank sighs. "Sit down, okay?" 

It's actually hard to believe that this is the same man who caught Hank's eye across the bar and whispered, "I think you're hot, in case that isn't obvious," in his ear no more than five minutes later. Connor looks so uncertain and unsure of himself that Hank doesn't quite know what to do with it.

It's unsettling, honestly.

Connor moves to sit at Hank's side, occupying his hands by ruffling his fingers through Sumo's fur, and Hank reaches for his arm, squeezing gently. "Look, it's...I don't know. I mean, it sucked..."

"I'm sorry," Connor says again. 

"No, that's...that's not my point. I'm just trying to say it sucked, but I mean...I don't know. I guess if I was irreparably pissed at you, we wouldn't be sitting here." Hank squeezes his arm again, shifting a little closer to Connor. "Do you want to tell me what you're upset about?"

Connor shrugs. "It's just some shit at work," he says, in a way that makes Hank think maybe it's more than just shit at work. "But I guess every now and then I realize I don't have anyone to call about my shit. And that hurts."

"You know I used to be a cop, right?" Hank asks, making Connor look up at him. "Detective. I had a pretty impressive case record."

"I know," Connor says.

"So I have a pretty good nose for when people aren't telling me everything."

Connor sighs, looking at his folded hands in his lap. "Can it..." he starts, although he interrupts himself to mask the way his voice breaks by clearing his throat. "Can it just be enough for me to say that I want to, for now? I want to."

"I don't know," Hank says wryly. "You going to ghost me again?"

The corner of Connor's mouth lifts in a weak smile. "No," he says. "I don't think so." He scrubs a hand over his face. "I really do like you." 

"I like you, too." Hank reaches over and ruffles Connor's hair. "I mean, I'd have to, to wait around for you for...fuck, how long is it now? Six months?" 

"I'm sorry," Connor starts to say again, but Hank squeezes his shoulder before he can finish.

"You don't have to keep saying that."

Connor nods. "I'd like to go out with you. If you still want to."

"Yeah. Of course I do."

It's weird, Hank will think later, how the signs were all right there that night, and he never saw them. How gutted Connor was in a way that seemed to go beyond work or family shit, how he even said he wanted to tell Hank everything but didn't know how. Hank will look back through years of call history to see that the call from work about android security and the call from Connor came in only a few hours apart, and he'll think, god. It was right there, so fucking obvious.

But that's the other thing Hank knows from years on the force, he supposes.

No matter how obvious it is, it's hard to see what you aren't looking for.

Connor scrubs a hand over his face, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. “I don’t think I’ve been doing very well on my own,” he says weakly.

“Hey,” Hank says, shifting so he can wrap an arm around his shoulders and tuck Connor into his side. “I don’t think any of us do. I haven’t been, either.”

Hank is distinctly aware as he says it, though, that Connor has been alone so much longer than him. His mother has been dead for nine years, he doesn’t have any other family, doesn’t really seem to be one for relationships, either... 

Connor sags into him - he seems content to have somewhere to lean, something to hold him up so he doesn’t have to do it himself. And if it’s possible, Hank can feel the weight of his exhaustion as they share it together.

He wonders what Connor’s burden is. Shitty ex, maybe. A history he isn’t proud of, possibly. And maybe it is just as simple as anxiety, too. It’s not Hank’s place to know, he knows - he can like Connor, and hell, he could even love him for who he is now without knowing everything that’s shaped his past.

But he does hope Connor will tell him someday.

For now, though, he runs his fingers through Connor’s hair and says, “Listen. I have to go out of town this week, but next weekend, can I take you out? Somewhere nice, maybe.”

Connor sighs against him. “You should be angrier at me,” he says, tucking his forehead into the crook of Hank’s neck. “I don’t know why you aren’t.”

Hank shrugs. “Because you’re hurting. And I just...I mean, fuck, sweetheart, what’s the point? If we’re going to get to the same place anyway, there’s no point in saying shit to you I’m going to regret just to punish you, you know? And you obviously feel like shit about it.” Hank kisses his forehead. “I’m not very good at fighting, honestly. Don’t like it very much. Not with people who matter.”

“I do feel like shit,” Connor mumbles.

“I know.” Hank squeezes his shoulder. “Next weekend? I kind of want to nail you down here, you know?”

He’s joking, and it gets the smallest smile out of Connor. “Yeah,” he says. “Is Saturday at six okay? You can stay again, if you want.”

“Yeah.” Hank cards his fingers through Connor’s hair. “I’d like that, baby.” 

Connor hums against him, content. “I should probably go soon,” he says softly. “It’s a long drive.”

“We can sneak you out in the morning before Cole wakes up, maybe,” Hank says, because he wants to be sure Connor’s okay, and he also just doesn’t want him to go. “If you want to stay, I mean. We can watch a movie or something, and cuddle if you want, if that would help...”

Connor makes a soft, choked noise somewhere in the back of his throat, something that sounds like a stifled sob, and he nods against Hank.

“Okay,” Hank says, kissing Connor’s hair. He wonders if it’s possible to love someone without knowing much about them at all, and if it isn’t, he wonders why it feels like he does, almost, or like he could.

“What do you want to watch?” he asks, and Connor shakes his head and wraps an arm around him and breathes, “I don’t care.” 

Hank doesn’t know why it’s taken them so long to get to this point, and he doesn’t know if it’s just more foolish optimism on his part, but he thinks as he starts a movie and Connor curls up beside him, laying his head in Hank’s lap, that things feel different this time.

They’re not more than fifteen minutes into the movie before Connor is asleep, which is fine, Hank thinks. Maybe he could use the rest. Hank spends more time watching him than he does the movie, running his fingers through Connor’s hair. And maybe Sumo knows Connor is struggling, too, or maybe he just wants to be pet, but either way he lies down beside the couch and slips himself under Connor’s hand.

It’s nice, Hank thinks. It fits.

When the movie is over, Hank squeezes Connor’s shoulder until he groggily opens his eyes and looks up at him. 

“Hey,” he says. “You want to go to bed?”

“Yeah,” Connor says, sitting up.

“I can get you some sweatpants to wear or something.” Hank stands and reaches for Connor’s hand to help him up. “Come on, baby.”

Connor follows him up the stairs with Sumo tailing after them, although when Hank opens the door, he realizes the tv is on again in the living room and that Cole is standing there, VR headset in hand.

“I can’t sleep,” Cole starts to say by way of explanation, although he stops when he sees Connor behind Hank. He’s a quiet kid, a little shy around people he doesn’t know. 

And Hank is  _ very  _ busted.

“This is my friend, Connor,” he says quickly, because he has to say something. “He just came over to talk for a bit.” He goes to take the headset from Cole and set it back on the entertainment center. “Come on, bud. Bedtime. It’s really late.”

Cole looks like he thinks it’s wildly hypocritical that Hank is talking about how late it is when he invited someone over, and still a little unsettled that Hank has had someone he doesn’t know in the house without him knowing. They’ll have to talk about it tomorrow - at least they have a long drive. 

Connor sees the look on Cole’s face, maybe, because he steps around Hank and points to the headset. “What are you playing?” he asks.

Cole considers him, scuffing his foot along the carpet. “Dusk Till Dawn,” he finally says.

“Yeah?” Connor asks. “You like it?” 

“Yeah,” Cole says. “It’s fun.”

“It’s supposed to be kind of scary, isn’t it?” Connor says. “You’re pretty brave.”

Hank sees an in there, which he’s happy enough to take. He might not have been trying to introduce Connor to Cole tonight, but he  _ does  _ want Cole to like him. 

“Connor made that game,” he says.

Cole looks at Hank, and then back at Connor. “You did?”

“Kind of. I was on the development team that designed it. That’s what I do, for work.”

“Are you good at it?” Cole asks. “I’m stuck in the forest.”

“I’m okay,” Connor says. “You’re probably better than I am, but we could do two player sometime, maybe. Help each other out.”

“Yeah,” Cole says, pleased. “Dad isn’t good at it. He tried to play with me tonight, and...”

“Hey, I’m  _ fine  _ at it,” Hank says, motioning for Cole to follow him. “Come on. Bedtime. For real this time.”

“Okay,” Cole says begrudgingly. And then, “Night, Connor,” which Hank thinks, with some satisfaction, is a very positive sign.

They wait until they hear Cole’s door shut down the hall, and then Connor whispers, “I can go, if you want me to.” 

“Why would you go? He already saw you,” Hank says. “And I mean, it’s not that big a deal anyway. I’m just trying to keep things simple for him with dating and all that, you know?”

“Yeah,” Connor says softly. “You know that game isn’t really for kids.”

Hank shrugs. “Jen’s boyfriend actually got it for him.”

“Oh.” 

“And I watched a few videos of it...it doesn’t seem that bad.”

“It’s not,” Connor says quickly.

Hank sighs, reaching for the remote to turn the tv off. “It didn’t work out. Jen and her boyfriend. Cole liked him, so now he’s hurt. That’s sort of what I mean about being careful.”

“I get it,” Connor says, although he looks like he wants to say something else, too.

“What?”

“It’s just...it’s not always bad for kids to learn that some things are tenuous.”

Hank considers that - there’s some wisdom in it. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I just don’t want things to be harder on him than they have to be.”

“I know,” Connor says, putting a hand on Hank’s chest. “You’re a good dad.”

“I’m trying,” Hank says, because that’s really all anyone can do, he thinks. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

Hank finds an old pair of sweatpants that are a little tight on him in the back of his drawer, and he goes to the bathroom while Connor changes - he’s trying to be respectful even though he’s seen it all before. When he gets back, Connor is already in bed, covers pulled up to his shoulders, back turned to the door.

It makes it easy for Hank to climb into bed behind him, fitting himself against Connor’s back and wrapping an arm around him.

He kisses the back of Connor’s neck and whispers, “You okay?”

Connor looks over his shoulder at him, and there’s something in his eye Hank can’t quite place, something like fondness. “Yeah,” he says, and if he doesn’t quite sound it yet, he does at least sound better.

He lifts his head to kiss Hank goodnight, and then they quietly settle in together. It’s different from the other times they’ve fallen asleep together, but it’s good, Hank thinks. It feels like their pretenses are gone, at least to some extent.

“You’re so good,” Connor mumbles into his pillow, so softly Hank almost misses it.

Hank doesn’t know whether he’ll be able to sleep, or if he’ll lay awake all night because he isn’t quite used to having someone in his bed anymore, but in the end it comes easier than he thought it might. He’s the one wrapped around Connor like he’s shielding him from something, but having Connor there is some kind of comfort for him, too.

He falls asleep with Connor warm and solid in his arms, and Sumo snoring in the corner, thinking about how he wishes he didn’t have to drive Cole home tomorrow or go out of town afterwards, that they could all just stay here together.

But it’s alright, Hank thinks. He supposes he doesn’t know for sure, especially with Connor’s track record, but this time he’s pretty sure there will be other quiet, relaxing days ahead for them together, and maybe there will even be a number of them. 

He doesn’t know if he should have forgiven Connor so easily, or at all, but he’s still glad he did.

* * *

The next morning, Hank is barely awake before Connor is turning in his arms to face him, running his fingers over Hank’s beard and kissing him sweetly.

“Hey, baby,” Hank says, voice rough with sleep. “You feeling better?”

“I think so,” Connor says softly. He stretches against Hank and then curls into him. He’s quiet for a while - and it’s nice, Hank thinks, just lying there in the dim morning light while the world is standing still with his arm around him.

But then Connor looks at him and tilts his head like he does when he’s considering something. “Are we dating?” he asks softly.

Hank shrugs. “I mean...I don’t know. You tell me. You’re the one who’s been a little, uh...adverse to commitment.” 

Connor blinks. “I’d like it if we were.”

“Yeah?” Hank asks, smiling and kissing his forehead. “You going to call me this time?”

“Yes,” Connor says primly, and Hank puts his hands on his face and kisses him again.

“Then yeah,” he says. “I think we are.”

Connor hums, satisfied, and lays his head back against Hank’s chest and stays there while Hank dozes off again.

“Hank?” he says at some point, although it takes a moment for his name to register.

“Hmm?”

“I should probably go if you want to get me out before Cole wakes up, shouldn’t I?” 

Hank glances at the clock. “Oh. Yeah. I guess so.”

Connor gives him a small smile and kisses the corner of his mouth before he moves to get up, and for the life of him, considering they just agreed on it, Hank can’t say why he stops him.

Connor looks back at him with a question in his eyes, and Hank shrugs and says, “I mean...I don’t know. Or you could just stay.”

Connor raises an eyebrow. “What about Cole?”

“I don’t know. If he hadn’t liked you I probably wouldn’t suggest it, but he did, so if you swear you’re not going to ghost me again...” 

“I won’t,” Connor says quickly.

“Then I don’t know. Maybe we just get up before he does and order a nice breakfast and tell him we’re dating. I mean...maybe you’re right, about learning that some things are tenuous.”

Connor tilts his head, considering it for long enough that Hank has the opportunity to wonder if maybe that’s coming on too strong - “hey, we just started dating just now, but let’s go tell my kid!” - but then Connor climbs back into bed with him and whispers, “Who knows? Maybe this won’t be tenuous at all.”

Maybe it’s premature to say since they haven’t even talked to Cole, but Hank still decides asking Connor to stay was a good idea. He likes cuddling with Connor, and he likes the way Connor isn’t shy about tucking himself into him as close as he can. He thinks Connor looks cute as hell in the oversized sweatshirt he came over in and the sweatpants he borrowed from Hank. And he likes the way Connor seems a little bit more like himself, casting a familiar look at Hank over his shoulder before he grinds his ass back against him, smiling when he finds Hank already half-hard because...well, fuck, he really does think Connor looks cute, and it’s nice to wake up beside somebody.

Connor twists to kiss him, not particularly shy with the tongue, and Hank groans against him. “Fuck,” he whispers. “I don’t have condoms here, baby...” 

“I’m clean,” Connor says quickly, kissing him again.

“Yeah, but I mean...I can’t say for sure that I am.”

“Have you been with anybody else since the divorce?”

“No, but...”

“Then it’s fine,” Connor says, and Hank should probably push back a little at how reckless he’s being, but...well. He doesn’t know. He trusts him not to lie, and if Connor wants to trust him, then...

“Okay,” Hank whispers, “but we have to be quiet, okay? Can you do that?”

“Probably not,” Connor says wryly. “But you’re welcome to make me.”

And honestly, Hank might have had his reservations, but he’s glad for this, too - the other times he’s been with Connor it’s been something very specific, rough and fast, and Hank has loved that and thought both times that Connor is incredible, but he likes that the need to be quiet forces them to go slow and ease up on the bed springs. He’s glad he at least has lube in the drawer of his bedside table - yes, it’s for himself, although Connor doesn’t ask - and also glad to slowly pull his sweatpants off of Connor so he can fuck into him from behind, with his face buried in the hood of Connor’s sweatshirt to muffle his heavy breaths and his hand over Connor’s mouth to stifle the noises coming out of him.

“I’m going to come, baby,” Hank whispers, softly enough the first time that he doesn’t even know how Connor hears him to reach around and grab him by the hip to hold him there so he comes inside of him, but he’s glad he does, and equally glad that Connor gets a weak whine out around his hand as he does it.

“Fuck,” Hank breathes, lifting his hand from Connor’s mouth, and Connor smiles, twisting enough that he can kiss him. 

Hank moves to pull out of him, but Connor squeezes his hand and whispers, “Stay. I like it,” which Hank finds very difficult to argue with.

He pulls the loose neckline of Connor’s hoodie to the side so he can kiss his shoulder, exploring the curve of it like it’s the most fascinating thing while he rubs circles into Connor’s skin where the hem of his sweatshirt has ridden up.

“Are you sure you’re cool with kids?” Hank asks him a few minutes later. He knows Connor has known he has a kid for months, and that he had the opportunity to leave this morning if he didn’t want to spend time with Cole, but most guys like Connor - young, attractive, career-focused - run for the hills at the very thought.

“Yeah,” Connor says. “I mean, you’re a package deal, right? And Cole seems like a good kid. So...of course I am.”

Hank knows Connor has been far from perfect the last six months, but he’s still deeply enamored with him, because he says shit like that, shit that makes him kind of an anomaly, and perfect for him.

“Okay,” Hank says, kissing him again. “My bathroom’s right there if you want to get cleaned up. I’ll order donuts a while.”

“Chocolate?”

Hank wonders how Connor has perfected puppy dog eyes so well, and how it’s possible that twenty-four hours ago he thought he was out of his life forever.

“Yeah,” he says. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.” 

Hank gets dressed and takes Sumo out while Connor showers, and once he joins him in the living room, slipping his arms around Hank’s waist and hugging him when he does, Hank goes back down the hallway to Cole’s room.

Cole is still asleep, so Hank nudges his shoulder. “Time to get up, bud. I ordered donuts for breakfast - they’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“The good kind?”

“Yeah,” Hank says, pulling a chair up to sit beside Cole’s bed as he sits up. “Listen. Connor is here. Is it okay with you if he eats breakfast with us? I want you two to get to know each other - you might see him around a bit more.”

Cole rubs his eyes. “He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “What do you think about that?”

Cole considers it and then says, “He seems too cool for you.”

Hank laughs at that and ruffles his hair. “Yeah. I think he is, too.” 

“His job is  _ way  _ cooler than yours.”

“Yeah, I get it, bud,” Hank says, amused. “You’re going to be nice to him, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. Dumb question.” Hank squeezes his arm. “Get dressed and come meet us out there, okay?”

The doorbell rings while Hank is getting up, and Hank comes out to the living room to find Connor bringing the donuts inside with Sumo at his heels. "He thinks you're too cool for me," Hank tells him under his breath as he passes him to retrieve the stack of paper plates from above the fridge.

Connor laughs outright at that. "I'm...a massive nerd."

"He missed that memo," Hank says, squeezing the back of Connor's neck when he joins him at the table.

Hank knows he has Jen to thank for how smoothly breakfast goes. He's sure this would be different, no matter how interesting Cole thinks Connor's job is, if Cole wasn't already accustomed to the idea of his parents seeing other people. Hank doesn't think she was cheating on him while they were married, but he does know the man she started dating no more than two months after the divorce had been a friend of hers for a long time, and that maybe the feelings were there, for her to move so quickly. So she took the brunt of it, Cole screaming about how it was her fault she and Hank weren't together anymore, and how she was ruining everything. 

Most kids are still optimistic enough to think maybe their parents will still get back together after a divorce, Hank supposes. "It happens," Cole had told Hank the next time he saw Hank after that mess, when Hank sat him down to talk to him about his behavior. "It happens sometimes."

Hank had wiped Cole's tears from his eyes with his thumbs even though it was plain he was trying not to cry. "It's okay to be upset about this," he had told him. "I know this sucks, okay? I hate how hard this is on you. But your mom and I weren't happy together, sweetheart. And I don't know. I think your mom deserves to be happy. I'd like to be happy. I know this is asking you to be really grown up for me, and to understand that sometimes things are just going to hurt for a while to get to something that feels better, but you want that for us, don't you? For us to have a life where we're all as happy as we can be?"

Cole had cried against Hank's shoulder for most of that night, but when he went home to Jen's, he had apologized, and eventually, he grew to like her boyfriend.

A shame they broke up, but Hank has already said that maybe Connor is right. Kids have to learn at some point that not everything is made to last. Everyone has to learn how to say goodbye at some point, even if he can see that Cole is hoping he won't have to say goodbye to Connor.

And Connor is really good with him, too. Hank doesn't know if he has a right to be surprised - maybe he's been stereotyping Connor, assuming since he's a single guy in his thirties that he doesn't have much interest in kids, and that he probably isn't much good with them even if he did. But Connor talks to Cole in ways he can understand without also talking down to him, telling him about his work, about how maybe he could show Cole what he does sometime, the back end of the games Cole loves, and show him some of what his studio has in development, too. Someone might think Connor was a celebrity for how starstruck Cole is by him.

"Could you teach me how to do it?" he asks Connor. “How to make things?”

"Sure," Connor says. "The basics, at least. A lot of kids learn."

After breakfast, Hank claps Cole's shoulder and says, "Finish getting packed, okay sweetheart? We have to leave in a little bit. I'm going to walk Connor out."

"Okay," Cole sighs. "Connor! Promise we'll play next time."

"Promise." Connor bends down to pet Sumo one more time before he lets Hank lead him out.

"You going to be okay?" Hank asks once they're outside. 

Connor leans against his car and reaches between them for Hank's hand. "Yeah," he says softly. "I'm better now."

"Okay." Hank kisses his forehead. "I'm out of town until Thursday, but text me if you need anything, okay?"

"Yeah." Connor leans up to kiss him, smoothing a hand over the collar of Hank's shirt. "I'll see you Saturday?"

"Yeah. Send me nice restaurants you like out in your area, okay? I'll make a reservation."

"Okay." Connor kisses Hank one more time before he opens his car door and slips inside. "Bye, Hank." 

Hank stands in the yard and watches him drive off.

He wonders if Connor is ever going to tell him what was upsetting him last night. What a weird thing, he thinks, an odd sequence of events that's brought them here.

But...at least they're here.

* * *

Up until last night, Connor had actually mostly made up his mind that he would let Hank go.

He knows it was shitty not to tell him. He’ll always know that. But he didn’t trust his resolve to say it - he doesn’t want things often, not in the way he wanted Hank, and so when he does, it’s hard for him to let them go.

But then the vague news reports about the disturbance at the CyberLife warehouse hit. There weren’t many details, but Connor knows how to read between the lines enough to know that one of their androids was behaving erratically.

Maybe it’s nothing. Or maybe it’s the start of what Amanda always said was coming.

Connor has always known what he’s been tasked with. Eighteen years since his activation, and nine without Amanda, has been plenty of time to sit with what she asked of him, to contemplate every last angle of it, every possible permutation.

But there’s something about being faced with it. Something about seeing it head on.

Connor has constructed a rose garden inside his head, tranquil and calming, where his very detailed memory of Amanda lives. He’s reconstructed her appearance perfectly, runs preconstructions based on nine years of past conversations to determine what she might say when he visits her there.

He tries not to retreat to that place often. His Amanda is gone, and this one is just code, just him talking back to himself even if he knows very well how to emulate her. He tries not to rely on her. 

But he went there when the news about CyberLife broke, because the day Amanda died, as she was fading in and out, she said, “I don’t always know if I did the right thing, Connor. Bringing you into this world. If I’ve created you for a purpose, to make people see what androids could become, then how is that any different from CyberLife’s domestic models and teachers and construction workers? It’s the same, isn’t it? Unless.” She squeezed Connor’s hand. “You have to choose what you do when the time comes. You have to. It has to be what you think is right, and not what I wanted, because otherwise...otherwise it’s the same.”

“It’s not the same,” Connor had told her. He meant it, still means it.

“Promise me you’ll choose,” Amanda had insisted. “I trust you. And even if...even if you can’t do it, and you just want to live your life in peace...that’s okay. I want you to choose. Whatever you want, okay?”

With tears in his eyes, Connor had promised her.

That theoretical choice seemed easier when he wasn’t faced with it. But now, when what Amanda always feared might finally be starting, he didn’t know what to do. He paced his apartment for hours, thirium pump tight in his chest, running endless preconstructions, spiraling in on himself...he’s never felt so unsure of anything in all his life, or so trapped.

So he went to the garden, and he sat with Amanda, and they talked it through, every last one of his fears, not least of all that if he’s not strong enough for this, that he doesn’t have the fortitude to be so isolated, even more so than he already is.

“What do you want to do?” Amanda had asked him softly.

“I want to do what’s right,” Connor had said. “But I don’t want to be alone. I’m so tired of being alone.”

Amanda had taken his hand and squeezed his fingers. “Then don’t be. You aren’t made for it.”

So he called Hank, because the world felt like it was closing in on him. He knew he didn’t deserve Hank’s forgiveness, but he also knew Hank would give it to him. And he knows that he’ll still have to keep his entire identity from Hank, no matter how much he comes to trust him, because Amanda is important to him, too, and he can’t jeopardize her work.

(And he can’t risk Hank hating him for what he is, either. He can’t bear that.)

Connor tells himself they won’t get too close. They’ll just date, as long as Hank will have him. And at least Connor will have somebody to hold him when shit gets hard, even if Hank will never know what’s truly troubling him.

That’s enough, isn’t it? It has to be possible to love someone without knowing everything they’re made of. Hank can know him completely as a person without knowing where he came from, can’t he?

Connor doesn’t know. But he hopes so.

Connor gets back to his apartment from Hank’s house in the early afternoon, and he feels calmer, even if he also wishes Hank hadn’t had to go out of town (although he knows why he did, even without Hank mentioning the incident at CyberLife). But later that evening, well after Hank should have checked into his hotel room in Chicago, Connor does call him. 

He wants Hank to know things are going to be different this time.

Connor looks good, he thinks - he was down at his building gym working out, which obviously does absolutely nothing for his body but does clear his mind some - so he opens a video call and he waits for Hank to answer. 

Mostly he just wants to see him. He doesn’t quite know how Hank has become such a comfort to him, but he is. Hank is soft, and kind, but mostly he just makes Connor feel like he’s worth something, worth being known...and maybe worth being missed if anything were to happen to him during this venture Amanda set him on.

It’s selfish, maybe, but Connor knows his demise is a real possibility. He wants to be loved, and seen...but he also wants to be remembered.

Hank accepts the video call on the last ring. “Hey,” he says, propping him phone up on his bedside table so Connor can see him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to call you.”

“Oh,” Hank says. He sounds surprised, and Connor supposes he really can’t blame him.

He props his elbow on his knee and puts his chin in his hand. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Hank says quickly. “Shit, yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like it wasn’t. I’m really glad you did.”

Connor smiles. “How’s Chicago?”

“God, I don’t know. It’s kind of an unnecessary trip, I think - they just got spooked by something - but at least the pay is good, I guess.”

Connor draws his knee up to his chest. "Spooked by what happened at CyberLife?"

"Yeah." Hank lifts an eyebrow and tilts his head. "You know about that? They've barely broadcast it anywhere."

"We don't build androids, but I still work with a bunch of tech people who keep up with that sort of thing," Connor says. "Is it bad?"

"I mean, my people still only know what CyberLife wants anyone to know, but I don't think it's bad, really. It's just weird. CyberLife security cameras caught an android out of its pod at one of the warehouses in Detroit, and when programmers examined it, it was running some sort of program separate from its default coding. They're not sure where it came from. It was trying to let some of the other androids near its pod out."

"Hm. A disgruntled programmer tampering with it, maybe?"

"Yeah," Hank says. "Something like that, probably. But I guess people are a little afraid that the android could let itself out at all, so...hence the security walkthrough, I guess."

"What are they going to do?" Connor asks. He tries to make it sound like a joke, but he doesn't know how much he succeeds. "Lock them up?"

"I honestly don't know," Hank says. "Not sure what the solution is. I'm just grateful our androids aren't that advanced and we probably don't have have to worry about it. I doubt they could let themselves out even if someone did tamper with them."

Connor would like to ask Hank if he thinks there's any possibility it wasn't human tampering, that the android evolved its own programming, but he doesn't want to seem like too much of a conspiracy theorist.

Instead, he says, "My mom used to say CyberLife's androids were too advanced. She thought they were asking for trouble."

"How do you mean?"

Connor shrugs. "I guess she mostly thought that if you design something with the capacity to think for itself, you shouldn't be surprised when it thinks for itself. And that's sort of the problem with CyberLife, I guess. Like...Riverbed makes machines. CyberLife makes machines that are intentionally designed to replicate humans, and they don't ever seem satisfied with progress, either. I don't know. I guess she thought there were some ethical concerns there."

"You think that's what happened?" 

"Oh, no," Connor says quickly, shrugging it off. "No. I don't know. I guess it's just making me think of her and some of the things she used to say."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"It's okay." Connor sets his phone on the bedside table so he can lie down on his side and still be in the frame. "Anyway. I'm sorry you had to go out of town over this. I would have liked to spend more time with you today."

"Me too," Hank says. "We have time though, right?"

Connor smiles. "Right."

And they do have time. Hank calls Connor a few days later, just to talk, and they go out that weekend once Hank is back in town, and then again the following one, and again and again. Connor still worries about losing Hank or hurting him, but he's made his decision, and so he also just...lets Hank slot into his life.

He loves Hank's sense of humor, and his resolve. He loves the very distinct sense he has that Hank would fight anyone for him, or for Cole. Connor hasn't spent much time thinking about kids, because that never felt like something in the stars for him, a bridge he would never even have to cross, but he finds that he loves that Hank is a good father, too.

Hank doesn't see Cole often, so neither does Connor, but they feel almost like a family when they do.

They're hiking that summer, watching Cole skipping stones across the lake, when Connor kisses Hank and whispers, "I love you." 

The words come easy. They're true, and there hasn't been any additional news out of CyberLife, and the quiet makes it so much easier to pretend.

"I love you, too," Hank says, because of course he does. Connor already knows.

It’s Hank’s birthday - a year to the day since they met, although they’ve only really known each other for half that time - when Hank asks Connor about moving in.

Connor has known it’s coming. He’s known that he doesn’t entirely trust himself not to say yes, because waking up beside Hank helps. It grounds him, and it makes him feel real in ways he hasn’t for the last nine years without anyone close to him in his life.

He also knows he can’t, because androids aren’t supposed to be able to leave their homes without being instructed to, and yet seven have been reported missing, with no sign of forced entry into the home, over the last two weeks. Connor knows the time is coming when he’ll need to be able to move freely, and living with Hank would make that difficult.

But, still. He takes Hank out for a seafood dinner on the river, and he puts a party hat on Sumo when they get home and have the cheesecake Connor baked him earlier for dessert. He sits in Hank’s lap and kisses him without any rush, and he lets the synthskin on the back of his hand retreat and looks at his white fingers closed around Hank’s hair while he fucks into him from behind that night, a little loss of control that Hank caused but can’t see.

There’s no trace of what he is left when Hank pulls him into his arms afterwards, kissing his forehead and running his fingers through Connor’s hair. “Good birthday?” Connor asks softly. 

“Yeah. Thank you, baby.” Hank exhales deeply, staring at the ceiling, tracing circles into Connor’s skin.

“Better than the last one?”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “At least this time I know you’ll be here when I wake up.” He’s both joking and not, Connor knows. “I love you, you know.”

“I know.”

“And...I don’t know. The distance kind of sucks, and I’d like to see you more, and I thought maybe...I don’t know. Would you ever consider moving in?”

_ Yes _ , Connor wants to say, but what he does say is, “I want to. I’m not sure what to do about the commute, though.”

He can work remotely. He’s always had the option to. There’s nothing stopping him, except...

“Yeah,” Hank says quickly. “Yeah, I get it. It’s just...”

He trails off, and Connor lifts his head to look at him. “It’s just what, Hank?”

“Where is this going, then? I mean...do you ever think about getting married?” 

Yes. All the time.

“I don’t know,” Connor says instead. “Does everything have to end in marriage or breaking up? Can’t we just be enough like this?”

“We are,” Hank says. “You don’t think you’re the marrying type?”

“I don’t know what I am,” Connor says, and that’s honest, at least. “I know I love you.”

“Yeah,” Hank says, but it’s tinged with sadness, and Connor hates himself, and the way everything inside him is always at odds.

He could tell Hank the truth about himself. He could. That would be the solution, but...

But he’s so afraid of losing him that he’d rather keep him at arm’s length than not have him at all - or worse, discover that Hank still has some loyalty to the law that might make him so inclined to report Connor.

He doesn’t think Hank would. He knows he wouldn’t.

But Connor can’t risk it, either.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and Hank kisses his forehead again.

“You don’t have to be. I was just throwing it out there, I guess.”

Connor knows they needed to talk about it, but he wishes it hadn’t happened on Hank’s birthday, and that he had something closer to the truth to say than just, “But what about my job?” Especially because if it was really about the job, he could ask Hank to move to his side of the city instead, and that suggestion, notably, never comes.

“I’ll think about it,” Connor says, trying to soothe something. He kisses Hank’s cheek and then turns Hank’s face so he can kiss his mouth, and he’s so fucking sorry that what Hank is hearing right now is, “I love you, but not enough for this,” when what Connor really means is, “I love you too much for this and I can’t risk losing you.”

Hank falls asleep after a while, but Connor lies awake, his thoughts spiraling in on themselves.

Cole’s eighth birthday is a few weeks later, but Hank and Connor don’t celebrate with him until the second week of October, when Cole has a few days off from school and can stay longer than just the weekend. 

They take him to the planetarium and Connor brings the early access version of his studio’s new game for Cole to play before anyone else. The conversation from a few weeks ago still hangs heavy between Connor and Hank, but maybe a little bit less so. 

Time doesn’t really heal anything for Connor, not with the way his memory works, his perfect recall, the way he can relive a moment at any time and can’t ever escape it. But he is discovering that his pain and his guilt will fade, if he’ll only let them.

And he does try to let them. Connor tries to enjoy what he has with Hank as much as he can, especially since he doesn’t know how long he’ll have it. And the day with Cole is no exception, although he admittedly spends most of their time at the planetarium looking at Hank, and the stars reflected in his eyes, instead.

“Can we get ice cream?” Cole asks from the back seat when they’re on their way home.

“Yeah,” Hank says. “We can stop at the store, pick up some for after dinner.”

“I mean the  _ good _ kind,” Cole whines. “Come on. It’s my birthday.” 

Hank looks at Connor, who shrugs. “It’s his birthday.”

Hank pinches Connor’s leg and says, “Don’t enable him,” but he’s smiling, and there’s humor in his voice, and Connor and Cole both already know he’s going to stop for ice cream. 

It rained earlier that day, and it’s cold enough to freeze, so Hank drives slow, even though it’s nothing anyone from the area isn’t used to. Cole is talking about some movie he wants to stream when they get home, and Hank is glancing at him in the rear view mirror, the lights from oncoming traffic across his face, when Connor sees it.

It happens fast, even if it feels slow to Connor. He sees the oncoming tractor trailer’s wheel slip and watches the start of the skid, has run preconstructions and calculations long before it even looks like anything is happening.

100% chance it hits them.

72% chance it pushes them off the road and overturns their vehicle.

And if it does, Connor will be okay. Hank will probably be okay.

But Cole? 7% chance of survival.

That’s the stat that makes Connor move. He grabs the steering wheel from Hank, pulls it hard to the right. It still runs them off the road, but in the opposite direction of the truck - their chances are better this way. The truck fishtails above them, trailer skidding across both lanes while their car slides down the hill. Hank yells something indistinguishable, and Cole is crying in the back seat, and it’s only a moment before the trees stop them, but it stretches on for Connor endlessly until he feels paralyzed in it.

The way they collide forces Connor’s head against the window, and he feels something in his delicate auditory processing system rupture and his synthskin fracture at his cheek, pulling back to reveal the damaged chassis underneath, under the force of the blow.

“Fuck,” Hank groans, trying to push the deployed air bag aside. He reaches for Connor, grasping his arm, and Connor squeezes his hand in return to let him know he’s okay. “Cole?” Hank says. “Talk to me, honey.”

He’s alive. Connor can hear him breathing in the back seat, fast and frantic. “I’m...” Cole tries to say, but he’s too shaken up to get much else out. 

Hank tries to turn to check on him and groans at the effort, and Connor squeezes his hand again. “Don’t move, okay?” he says softly. He wants to turn to look at Hank - he just wants to see him - but he can’t until his ruined synthskin repairs itself. Instead, he pulls his door handle and forces it open, stepping out of the car.

“Connor,” Hank says after him, trying to reach for him.

“It’s okay,” Connor says, although his voice is shaking. He’s unsettled. “I’m okay.”

He presses his handkerchief to his cheek so Cole won’t see the damage when he opens the back door to check on him. “Hey,” he says as he leans inside the car, scanning Cole’s vitals when he looks into his wide, teary eyes. “You’re okay, I promise. What hurts?”

“My head,” Cole says, voice small. “And my neck...”

Hank tries to move again, and Connor reaches between the seats to grab for his shoulder. “Don’t move,” he says again. “Not if it hurts.”

“You’re moving,” Hank says pointedly.

I don’t break in the same way you do, Connor thinks.

“I’m going to call an ambulance,” he says to both of them. “Sit tight, okay?”

Connor walks a few steps away from the car, and he’s not surprised to hear Hank forcing his door open and moving behind him, footsteps uneven, as Connor talks to the operator android on the other end of the line.

“Okay,” Connor says into the phone, watching Hank check on Cole over his shoulder. His synthskin has finally pulled back into place, so he pockets his handkerchief. “Okay...okay.”

Hank comes up behind Connor when he hangs up, pulling him into his arms and kissing his hair and then pushing him back to look him over just as quickly. “Jesus,” he says. “There isn’t a scratch on you.”

There are, Connor knows. Hank just can’t see them.

Hank kisses his forehead again and says, “What the fuck happened? You...”

“I saw the truck skidding,” Connor says softly.

“I was watching the road, and it wasn’t...”

Hank trails off, and Connor just shrugs weakly. 

“The ambulance will be here soon,” he says instead, and Hank nods, pushing an arm through his hair and wincing again. His face is lacerated, and with the way he’s carrying himself, Connor can see he’s hurt.

“Was there a driver in the truck?” Hank asks, and Connor squeezes his arm.

“I think it was autonomous, but I’ll go check. Just stay with Cole and keep him still.”

“Okay,” Hank says, voice rough with pain. “You really saw it skidding?”

“Yeah.” Connor presses a kiss to his mouth and tastes the iron tang of blood. “I love you. Stay here.”

Connor knows as Hank squeezes his hand that Hank isn't questioning him. What Hank is trying to figure out is how he failed them so badly, because he's thinking that if Connor saw it, he should have, too.

"It wasn't your fault," Connor whispers before he goes. "Okay? And we're all fine." 

Hank swallows hard and nods. "Yeah," he says softly. "Okay."

Connor doesn't want to leave him, but Hank and Cole are both stable, and Hank is right that they should check on the other driver if there is one, so he climbs the bank to the tractor trailer.

The trailer is overturned, but the cabin is still upright. Connor steps up on the foothold to look inside - it’s an autonomous vehicle, like he thought, so he turns away and climbs back down the bank to wait for the ambulance.

That brings other problems, of course, most notably that Connor can't let himself be examined. He passes for human, but not under such close inspection. They'll realize that his thirium pump is three inches lower than a human heart, or that the echoes of his heartbeat reverberate in a different way.

And fuck, his ear hurts. There's nothing he can do about that now, but even that is a problem, because they could look inside his ear and see the thirium leakage inside. Connor bleeds red, but some of his internal components are still lubricated by thirium, and it wouldn't take much for someone to look where he's damaged and see blue. 

He can still hear well enough, but the thirium leakage makes everything sound like he's been plunged underwater. Connor is distracted by it, and that's the only reason he stumbles as he's coming back down the hill, slipping on the wet grass.

He catches himself with a hand, and Hank is beside him a moment later, kneeling and grasping his arm.

"I'm okay," Connor says quickly, righting himself. He doesn't want Hank to think there's anything wrong with him. It's distorted, but he can hear the ambulance sirens in the distance.

When the paramedics get there, they retrieve Cole first. They're most worried about Cole's neck, and that Hank might have a concussion, and so Connor mostly manages to avoid scrutiny on the drive to the hospital since he doesn't look hurt at all.

He sits in the ambulance with his fingers laced with Hank's, quiet. There will never be any way to tell him that he saw every outcome of tonight, twenty-eight sequences of events in which Hank didn't make it.

He can't tell him, but the images are burned in his memory anyway.

Connor knows what’s coming when they get to the hospital. The paramedics unload Cole first, and then say, “If you’ll both come with us, we’ll get you checked out.”

“I’m fine,” Connor says, even if he’s in pain and it’s taking every ounce of his focus not to show it. 

“Baby...” Hank says, but Connor just squeezes his hand.

“It won’t take long...” the paramedic starts.

“I’m fine,” Connor says again. “I’m declining medical treatment. Whatever you need to hear.”

“Sir...”

“Look,” Connor says, “just let me go with my kid, alright? I want to stay with him. I’ll go to my doctor tomorrow or something.”

It comes out that way because it’s less of a mouthful than “my partner’s son,” and because Connor badly needs to get his point across, but it’s also the first time he’s called Cole his, and Hank knows it, too, from the look on his face. And so does Cole, lying on the stretcher beside them.

“Okay?” Connor says, but he’s looking at Hank when he asks it. It’s not a question for anyone else.

“Yeah,” Hank concedes, grasping him by the back of the neck and kissing his forehead. “Okay.” 

“Love you,” Connor whispers before they part ways. Cole reaches for him, and Connor takes his hand, walking beside him as the paramedics roll his stretcher down the hall.

Connor stays with Cole for as long as he can, although he’s directed to a waiting room early on while they run some tests. “I’ll be right here,” Connor tells him when Cole looks like he’s going to cry again. “I’ll see you when you get back, okay?”

It takes a while, but finally they put Cole in a room, and he and Connor have some time while the doctors look at his x-rays and his other scans. “You’re being really brave,” Connor tells Cole, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Cole scrubs a hand over his face, wincing when he touches the stitches on his forehead. “You’re really smart,” he says softly. “You think things through so fast.” He runs his thumb over the stitches at the edge of his sheets. “I hope one day I’m like that.”

Connor squeezes Cole’s hand. His ear is throbbing. “You’re already smart.”

“Yeah, but...not like you. You were like...a superhero, or something, grabbing the steering wheel like that.”

Connor doesn’t know what to say to that, especially when it’s so far from how he feels about himself, so he just says, “I was just trying to protect you and your dad, bug.” Cole is quiet, considering that, as Connor looks around the room. “I thought about making a game like this once,” he says, because it seems like maybe Cole could use a distraction.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I was just going to do it independently. It was going to be about this man who wakes up in an abandoned hospital, and the player has to look for clues about who he is and piece together the mystery.”

“Was it supposed to be scary?”

“Yeah, but I mean...in an existential kind of way.” Cole contorts his face in confusion, and Connor laughs. “It means being afraid of your own existence or like...your own condition in relation to the world, you know?”

“No,” Cole says, and Connor laughs again.

“It’s something adults think about a lot.” 

“You’re afraid of your own existence?”

“Sure,” Connor says. “I mean, sometimes. I think everyone is.”

“That’s sad.”

“Yeah,” Connor says softly, ruffling Cole’s hair. “I guess it is.”

Cole is quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Can I have a soda?”

“Yeah,” Connor says. “Let me go ask your nurse if it’s okay, and I’ll get you something from the vending machine if it is, alright? Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

“I’m not a  _ baby _ , you know.”

Connor smiles and kisses his hair. “I know. I’ll be right back.”

Standing up hurts, but it isn’t any worse than sitting down, or talking. It’s just different versions of the same ache. Connor wishes he knew when he was going to be able to repair this, but unless he leaves in the middle of the night once they get home, it definitely won’t be before tomorrow.

He walks down the hall, slipping his hands into his cardigan pockets, looking for the nurse’s station, but he finds Hank first, rounding the corner like he’s looking for Cole’s room. Connor feels tears pricking his eyes when he sees him.

“Hi,” he says softly, and Hank closes the distance between them, folding Connor into his arms.

And Connor is all too happy to melt into him and let himself be held. “Are you okay?” he asks into Hank’s jacket.

“Yeah, I’m fine. No concussion. How’s Cole?”

“He’s okay. We’re just waiting for the doctor.”

Hank takes Connor’s face in his hands and kisses him like he thinks he’s incredible. And Connor would like to tell him that he didn’t do anything remarkable that evening, that the preconstructions that made him run them off the road are just a standard part of how he’s made, but instead he just kisses him back.

“That truck would have killed us,” Hank says softly.

Cole, almost certainly. And maybe Hank, too. It’s impossible to know anything with absolute certainty, but still, Connor knows enough.

“It didn’t,” he whispers, and Hank kisses him again.

Cole is worst off out of all of them, his neck badly strained and a minor concussion, but it's mild enough that the doctors discharge him and let Hank and Connor take him home, even if it's much later, well past midnight, before they get to leave the hospital. Cole falls asleep on the ride home, and Hank carries him inside to his room. "We'll go out for ice cream tomorrow, okay?" Connor hears Hank telling him as he helps Cole get ready for bed.

Connor is quiet as he moves down the hall to Hank's room. Hank's bathroom is private enough that he can go relatively unnoticed while Hank and Cole are distracted, and he locks the door and disables his vocal modulator so he won't betray himself - a good decision, in the end, because flushing the thirium from his damaged ear is a painful process, and even though 

he can't make any noise, he still bites down on his own fist while he does it.

He's breathing raggedly by the time he's done, fist clenched where he's leaning on the counter. He opens the access panel under his ear and finds the component cracked, the sensors around it badly damaged - the source of the pain, and the downside to having such advanced receptors at all, because everything is amplified.

There's not much Connor can do right now. Removing the component is a more involved process than just snapping it out, and he's sure he doesn't have the time for it right now. He could disable the sensors to reduce the pain, but that would affect other processes too, and that isn't a risk he's comfortable with. At least flushing the thirium will help a bit with the feedback and quiet some of the white noise. 

He hears Hank shutting Cole's door down the hall and moving around in the kitchen to let Sumo out, so Connor seals the access port again and brings his vocals back online. He goes back to the bedroom, and he's changing into his sleep clothes, pulling his sweatshirt over his head, when he hears Hank behind him.

"Is Cole asleep?" Connor asks, sighing when Hank wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him back into his chest.

"Yeah," he says, tucking his face into Connor's neck.

They stand there for a moment, still, but that's okay. Connor is happy enough to be held. It doesn't make the pain any less, but it still helps.

Connor thinks, not for the first time, about telling Hank everything - who he is, what he is. It's not that he's any less afraid of losing him, but what if Hank just...still loved him anyway? That's an option too, isn't it? He's sent so much time thinking in terms of either/or, but what if there's some world where he can have Hank and do what he needs to - wants to - for Amanda, too?

What if Hank knows and still thinks he’s as incredible as he does now?

Connor doesn't know if that's hoping for too much, but he almost lost Hank tonight, and he realizes now that all this time he’s told himself he’ll be content with the time they have, he’s been fooling himself, because it isn’t enough. And the only way he’ll ever have more than this is if he takes the risk and tells him the truth.

He thinks maybe he has to try.

Connor doesn't know if now, when androids are very decidedly still computers at least as far as public consciousness is concerned, is the time to ask Hank to try to understand it. But soon, maybe. There are signs that what Amanda always feared is on the horizon, and that means the ethical debates aren't long behind. Connor gives it a year, at the most, before android personhood is a common newsroom conversation, and he can start laying the bread crumbs down a while, too.

So...not tonight, not tomorrow, and maybe not even a few months for now, but Connor knows now that he isn’t strong enough to lose Hank. And if he tells him, he might lose him. He probably will. Hank loves him, but that's still so much to ask of him.

But if he doesn't tell him, then he certainly will. Eventually, the day will come when he will. Connor has always known that, but now, he isn't sure anymore than he can bear it.

Is it really so bad to hope for more?

Connor doesn't know.

And for now, maybe he doesn't need to. Maybe it's enough to get into bed with Hank and hold on to him and know they still have time.

Connor doesn’t realize he’s crying until the broken sob shakes his shoulders and Hank pulls back to look at him. “Connor?” he says. “Baby, hey. What...”

Connor squeezes Hank’s wrist where his arms are still wrapped around him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, reaching up to wipe his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I was so scared. I was  _ so _ scared. I thought I was going to lose you, and I can’t...”

Hank holds him tighter, kissing Connor’s temple. “Hey,” he says softly. “It’s okay. We’re all okay. I’m right here.”

But it’s like Connor has torn something loose inside of himself, and he can’t make himself stop. Another sob pulls its way free from him, and he can only dimly hear Hank saying, “Shh. You’re okay. Come here.”

He guides Connor back to the bed and sits down beside him, rubbing his hand over Connor’s back while Connor bends forward and covers his face with his hands. “Jesus, I didn’t realize you were this shaken up,” Hank says. “I should have...”

Connor shakes his head quickly. “It’s okay,” he says, voice hitching.

Hank wraps his arms around him again and leans against Connor’s back, a comforting weight. He mostly just lets Connor cry, occasionally carding his fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” Connor whispers, because it’s all coming out of him right now, he supposes, all of the regrets he can voice, even if there are so many others he can’t.

“Jesus,” Hank says. “You don’t have to be sorry, baby. It’s okay.”

“No, I mean...” Connor huffs in frustration, digging the heel of his hand into his eye again even though he knows it won’t stop the tears. “I mean I’m sorry for saying I didn’t want to move in because of my stupid fucking job. You’re the only thing that matters to me, and...”

“Hey.” Hank puts his hands on Connor’s face and gently lifts his head so he can thumb the tears from Connor’s cheeks. “We don’t have to talk about that right now. And I mean...we’ve only been dating for six months. Just because we don’t do it now doesn’t mean...”

“I want to,” Connor says before he can finish. “I’m sorry I acted like I didn’t. I don’t...I don’t know why things feel so hard to me, sometimes. I’m sorry I’m like this. But I want to.”

Hank kisses him and says, “You’re not like anything, baby. I love you, okay?”

Connor nods, swallowing roughly. The crying isn’t helping the pain in his head, but what else can he do? “I love you, too.”

Hank leaves him only as long as it takes him to get changed, and then he lies down at Connor’s side and pulls him back into his arms. The occasional sob still racks his shoulders, but he feels better, maybe, for having let some of that shit out.

Some time later, when they’re both drifting near sleep, Hank squeezes Connor’s arm and softly says, “Do you really want to?”

“Yeah.” Connor lifts his head to look at him, smiling weakly. “I do.”

In the morning, Connor says he’s leaving for an appointment with his doctor, and instead he goes to Amanda’s house, the one that’s still in his name even if he can’t bring himself to live there anymore. He goes down to the robotics lab that’s still carefully maintained, and he struggles through the process of repairing his auditory channel badly enough that he eventually does have to disable the sensory receptors there just so his hands will stop shaking.

He doesn’t like doing that, turning himself off that way. He doesn’t like that he  _ can  _ do it. It makes him feel less alive, not to feel, even when feeling hurts. Pain is part of it, and he doesn’t like running from that.

But he can’t do the repairs without taking parts of himself offline, and as he does, he thinks, almost unbidden of how much easier these things were when Amanda was here to do the work, and he wonders without even trying to if it’s something Hank might ever be willing to learn.

Connor struggles with picturing his own future. He’s never been able to see himself beyond the role Amanda created him for. But now he allows himself to consider not just that Hank would love him even if he knew what Connor has kept from him, but also that Hank would maybe even be interested in what he is.

The thought that he would ever learn how to take care of Connor in the very specific way Connor needs to be taken care of sometimes feels far off and distant, because there are so many pieces that would have to fall into place for them to ever even get there at all.

But it’s becoming a comfort to Connor, to think about his future with Hank, just what it could be without considering any of the odds and probabilities around it, and so as he does his own repairs, he thinks about Hank doing them instead.

It would be easier to just go home to his apartment afterwards, but instead, Connor drives the hour back across the city to Hank’s house again. Jen has already come to pick Cole up by that point - she wanted to see him after the scare, of course, and she and Hank both thought it would be better for Cole to rest up in the bed he usually sleeps in. Connor finds Hank sitting on the couch with Sumo when he lets himself in.

“Hey, baby,” he says. “Everything go okay?” 

“Yeah.” Connor hangs his coat up by the door and squeezes in between Hank and Sumo. He twists so he can kiss Hank’s cheek and ruffles Sumo’s fur. “All clear.”

Someday, maybe, he’ll tell Hank about how badly it hurt.

Hank drops his arm from the back of the couch to Connor’s shoulders and kisses his forehead. “You doing okay?”

He doesn’t mean physically, Connor knows, but even still, he does feel better this morning.

“Yeah.” He nestles himself against Hank’s side, and he thinks he means it. “I’m okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind comments on the first chapter! They mean a lot to me even if I'm not great at replying to them! ❤️
> 
> If you're enjoying this and you don't want to wait for the next chapter, you can pick up the Twitter thread where this chapter leaves off on Twitter [here!](https://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean/status/1310434236910968837)
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean) and [Tumblr](http://jolli-bean.tumblr.com). Come chat with me!


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